The Scales of Truth
by demonegg
Summary: Endless darkness & silence stretches before her, & she's not sure why she's here anymore, except she knows she has to save someone--someone dear. She shudders when a voice pierces the calm and stops, dead in her tracks. "Princess...Welcome to Hell."
1. Prologue

"HEY JAFAR!"

She couldn't hear the last part of Iago's taunt over the sound of the fiery inferno that raged beneath her. The roar of the lava and the feel of the blisters forming on her skin had all but enveloped her senses, pushing her closer and closer to delirium.

She turned away from the unconscious genie lying helplessly on her lap, oblivious to the imminent danger they all faced. Blinking back the smoke that filled the air and stung at her eyes, she tried to see the parrot as he nosedived for Jafar's lamp and retrieved it to take to Aladdin. She could barely make out his form, but she watched him, hoping, praying he'd make it, that they'd make it out alive. A flash of light flew across her eyes and she watched, stunned as Iago was blasted into a boulder by a magical fireball just moments before reaching Aladdin.

"No."

No. No, this wasn't happening. Iago couldn't be injured; he couldn't die. He was their last hope of defeating Jafar. She fanned the unconscious genie more furiously, her mind racing, trying to think of something, anything she could do to save their lives. But what could she do, stranded atop a solitary column of rock? "Please, please wake up," she whispered hoarsely, "Genie, we need you. I need you. I don't know…I don't know what to do."

He stirred. At least she thought he did, before a sudden flash of lightning blinded her senses. She looked up and stared agape at Jafar, his body eerily electrified as a fearsome power coursed through his bones. Aladdin and Iago must have done it- destroyed his lamp. She could feel the genie jump to his feet, but her eyes remained transfixed on her enemy, who shrieked in agony, relentlessly crushed by an invisible torque until he erupted into an unearthly cloud of shimmering light.

"COME ON, JASMINE! We have to get out of here PRONTO!" Genie shouted at her, but she couldn't move. She just stared at the now empty sky in disbelief; Jafar was dead. Jafar was dead, and she was still alive. But as a furry hand tugged desperately on her own, her reverie was quickly broken, and she heeded the frenzied urgings of her friends to leave the canyon. She raced out onto the impromptu escape ramp, just trying to put one foot in front of the other- whatever it took to make it out alive.

His scream brought her back to the harsh reality of her surroundings. Aladdin. He was still trapped in the fiery gorge with the wounded Iago. She sprinted towards the sound of his cries, her weary body tapping an almost miraculous strength, strength she didn't know she possessed. But he was still down there, trapped, and she had to help him.

She coughed, inhaling the sulfurous fumes escaping the rapidly shrinking canyon. "Genie?! Genie!" she cried in vain, pleading for his assistance, but her eyes were too blinded from the unholy combination of rampaging fire and scintillating magical dust to see if he was actually coming.

She would find Aladdin on her own. But where was he? Where…?

Her eyes lit upon a solitary figure scrambling up the side of the canyon, his innate agility hampered by severe burns from the boiling lava. Aladdin. He cradled the fallen Iago in his upward climb, almost too tenderly given the gravity of the situation, as if he valued the safety of his friend more than his own.

"Aladdin," she coughed, hoping he could grab her outstretched hand.

He reached out to her, ignoring her frantic grasps for his fingers as he placed the wounded parrot in her hand. She snatched the bird away from him harshly. She was grateful for Iago, but she didn't have time for this. Not when Aladdin was still in the gorge.

She turned back to help him, hoping to see him almost out of harm's way, but instead she only heard his muffled scream. He must have lost his footing and fallen back into the rapidly shrinking canyon.

"ALADDIN! GENIE HELP HIM!" she screamed, desperately grasping at the air where his arm had been moments before. She peered over the chasm's edge and saw him, stranded and unconscious on a ledge far below her reach. She pounded furiously, pleadingly on the ground, trying in vain to stop the encroaching walls with her futile fists and stinging tears.

"Please, Allah, please. ALADDIN!"

But her prayers fell on deaf ears. The last thing she heard was an unholy thunder, as the ground silenced her love forever.

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* * *

First off, many thanks go to Cantare for all her loving support (and incessant nagging) that made this fiction possible. Secondly, I would greatly appreciate any comments or suggestions you may have, as this is my first fanfic. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

She collapsed on the ground, her lungs exhausted with grief

She collapsed on the ground, her lungs exhausted with grief. The unearthly halo emanating from the now sealed chasm washed over her body in a spiteful beauty, a beauty that only intensified the pain that knifed through her heart.

Aladdin.

He couldn't be dead, could he? The person she saw swallowed by the canyon must have been a ruse, a shadow, something that couldn't have possibly been her love. She closed her eyes over treacherous tears, tears she cried for something she couldn't quite accept yet. She tried to recall his handsome face- the playful smile, the loving eyes- but the only image she saw was the ghastly scene of his body, bruised, burnt, and bleeding on a rock ledge. He had looked almost inhuman lying there, his body twisted and crumpled like a used rag soaked in crimson. She couldn't see his face.

She quickly blinked and pounded her fists on the hateful earth, anything to prevent herself from remembering the way he looked as the canyon entombed him forever in stony silence.

He was dead.

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the events of the last several hours. What was the last thing he said to her? Had she even told him that she loved him throughout this whole ordeal? She remembered the look in his eyes when he first saw her face after escaping the executioner's block, the feel of his calloused hands on her back when he swung her into his arms. She tried to hear the soothing words he had whispered into her ear then, the "I love you," the "Shh, I'm okay," the "Jasmine, we have to stop Jafar," but every word she heard was muted by the sound of his final scream and the thunder of the murderous earth that still echoed in her head.

Grief and guilt overwhelmed her senses. Why hadn't she grabbed his arm when he handed her Iago? Maybe she could have saved him, or maybe he would have pulled her into the gorge too. What did it matter? At least she wouldn't be feeling this way; she wouldn't be consumed by an all-pervading sadness that threatened her very sanity. No, she would have been consumed by the earth, instead.

Her fingers clawed into the ground with a mind of their own, almost as if they too couldn't believe he was gone, as if they could rescue him if they just dug deep enough. Or maybe they were digging her own grave alongside his, she couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Maybe she deserved to be dead, too. After all, what had she done throughout the battle to defeat Jafar? She had made one pitiful attempt to retrieve the lamp, one move to defeat Jafar before she was forced to dodge his fiery defenses; the rest of her time was spent trying to resuscitate Genie, so he could save them all.

Genie.

She had heard his sorrowful footsteps and feeble apologies earlier, but she had ignored them, too consumed by her own disbelief and sadness to even acknowledge his presence. But now, she lunged at the stunned genie, seething at him through her unrelenting tears. How dare he even approach her, where was he when Aladdin needed him, why didn't he come when she called for him? He didn't even attempt to deflect her rage; he didn't stop her merciless hands. He just stared back at her with his own doleful eyes, understanding that she needed to feel something, anything but hopeless grief.

When she finally came to her senses, she looked about her in horror at the stunned faces of her friends. They too had lost someone dear to them, a best friend, a savior, and yet they willingly allowed her to vent her anger and despair on them, one more burden added to their already saddened souls.

She fell back on her hands and knees as a new wave of guilt flooded her awareness. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there; she had to escape their pitying eyes. She ran for her room, collapsed on her bed, and wept until she passed out.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of a lonely breeze rustling her curtains, but her eyes could barely open. They had almost completely swollen shut from all her tears. Clenching and unclenching the sides of her bed, her fingers begged her not to remember the events of the previous day, the day Aladdin had died. She did not listen to their pleas, she could not; the dire incident wormed its way into her awareness without her consent. He was dead. They had defeated Jafar, but Aladdin was dead.

She could feel the tears once again obscuring her vision; however, she no longer felt the unbearable despair she had experienced earlier. Numbness now mixed with the sadness, making it easier to suppress her grief and adopt the ever-stoic mask of royalty. She still had to perform her duties as princess, even though all she really wanted to do was run away from the pain she felt.

Run away.

She remembered the first time she had run away, how he had saved her, his blushing smile when she had caught him staring at her. No, no, no. She couldn't think of this now. She had to forget it for the moment and dress to see her father and friends- she owed them an apology.

She knew they hadn't judged her for her outburst; she knew they had understood, but it still wasn't fair for them to bear the brunt of her frustration and grief. After all, Abu had known Aladdin for a lot longer than she; they had been best friends who depended on each other for survival. And Genie. He owed the fulfillment of his greatest desire to Aladdin. Without his selfless last wish, Genie would still be stuck in a lamp, forever doomed to grant all wishes but his own.

She slowly made her way to her wardrobe and dressed, choosing a black outfit she had only worn to state funerals. She had never actually felt any real loss at these events- she seldom even knew the deceased, so the color had been chosen merely out of respect for bereaved family. Never once had it occurred to her that she'd be wearing it in mourning over her own fiancé.

A knock on the door interrupted her heavy thoughts as she haphazardly tied back her hair. She opened the door to her father, solemn and sad, standing at the threshold. She knew he understood her loss; her mother had died from a grave illness only weeks after her birth, and despite a span of sixteen years and the pressure to produce a male heir, her father had never remarried. And he too had loved Aladdin. In the two weeks since she had known him, her father had often remarked that his greatest joy was to know that she was loved and cared for by someone he considered a son.

"Good morning, dearest. I just wanted to see how you were doing," he stammered, grabbing her hand and patting it awkwardly with his own. It was strange; even her own father, the man who had helped her deal with a seemingly endless list of emotions growing up, seemed to be at a loss for how to comfort her at the time she needed it the most.

"Jasmine, I know…I know how hard it is to lose a loved one. When I lost your mother, I never thought I would recover, but I knew I had to…I had a kingdom and you to look after. Even now, not a day goes by that I don't think of your mother, but the pain no longer haunts me. Now I can remember with fondness all the joys we shared."

She said nothing, unable to find any words, so she just stared blankly at the floor instead. She knew he was trying, but there was no way he could ever ease her suffering. No words of his could ever stop the pain that paralyzed her heart.

He reached up and placed a tender hand on her tear-stained cheek. "You too will recover. You have a kingdom and friends who will draw their strength from you. Life will go on. And someday, dearest, you will find someone else who loves you with all his heart."

Her breath caught in her throat. Someone else? She knew he was only trying to comfort her, but how could he even suggest that there might ever be someone she loved as much as Aladdin? And at a time like this? No, she wouldn't, she couldn't give her heart away again; Aladdin had died with love for only her in his heart, and she would do the same for him.

Angry tears started flowing again, blurring her vision as she attempted to choke back a sob. "I gave my heart to Aladdin, Father; how could I ever consider betraying him by giving it to someone else?"

The sultan sighed and smiled ruefully at his daughter, but his meekness only infuriated her. She hardened her gaze on her father as she continued, still suppressing sobs with each angry word she spoke. "I will devote myself to my duty, to my people and my friends, but I'd rather condemn myself to a lifetime of loneliness than give my love to any other man."

He blinked at her, looking almost stunned. Perhaps he hadn't expected one of her outbursts to be directed at him when he had only come to comfort her. But she felt no remorse for her words; she would not renege the words she had spoken from the bottom of her heart.

"I'm sorry, dearest, but you will have to marry eventually. A princess's loyalty must always lie with her people, first and foremost. The neighboring kingdoms will not allow a woman to rule alone. And of course, there will always be pressure from the more conservative nobles; you would be stripped of the throne within a year. Then how could you guarantee the welfare of your kingdom and your people? You would have no control over society or the benevolence and wisdom of your successor. No, you must eventually marry."

Her eyes flashed with anger, challenging his assertion, even though she knew he was only speaking the truth. No kingdom, not even her own, would wholeheartedly accept her as the sole leader. Still, she could not bear to admit the possibility of ever betraying Aladdin's love, not to herself, and not to her father. Instead she just bowed her head, hiding her fury and any admission she was wrong from her father's eyes.

"This doesn't have to be done right away; your heart will need time to mend. But I just wanted you to be prepared. There's no hope of bringing someone back from the dead."

"What?" she whispered almost inaudibly.

Back from the dead? The thought hadn't occurred to her. No, most people couldn't raise the dead, but most people didn't have a semi-phenomenal genie at their disposal, either. True, he hadn't saved Aladdin when he was alive, but maybe there was a chance he could save him now. Maybe he just hadn't thought about it earlier- maybe like her, he had been too distraught by grief to think clearly. It was worth a shot, at least; she desperately needed to believe in something. And surely he wouldn't mind her using his power this once. Just this once, so she could bring Aladdin back to her, back to them all.

She raised her head just in time to see her father leave, allowing her to grieve in peace, but it was no longer necessary. Sadness no longer overwhelmed her, for now there was a small shred of hope. It wasn't much, but she fervently latched onto it just the same.

She just had to bring him back from the dead.


	3. Chapter 2

She ran down the hallways, searching all the rooms for her friend. By Allah, where could he possibly be? The guards and the other servants she encountered gave her questioning, pitying looks; surely they thought she had lost her mind. But she didn't care; she needed to find Genie right away. He had to be powerful enough to bring Aladdin back. If he could turn Jafar into an omnipotent genie, it should be relatively easy to resurrect someone who had been dead for less than a day…Right?

She refused to stop and think about other possibilities to that question. Instead she grabbed the next servant she saw, her hands trembling as she clenched his arm; the poor man looked absolutely bewildered by her behavior and her frayed appearance, but she no longer cared about the propriety of her actions.

"Have you seen the genie?"

He nodded nervously, "The garden," and then bowed obsequiously as he tried to free his sleeve from her grasp.

She looked gratefully into his eyes, as she released her hold on his garments and turned to run down the hallway.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The sun blinded her eyes as she stepped into the menagerie, yet somehow she managed to spot the genie, hunched over in depression by a palace fountain. Strange, it seemed that he had turned even bluer, as if his color reflected his mood. Carpet, Abu, and Iago lay nearby, none of them even moving to acknowledge her approach. Wait…Iago?! She had nearly forgotten about the bird and how close to death he had been the previous day. At least he was alive and well. Aladdin would be glad to see that if…no, once he returned.

Walking up slowly to the blue genie, she put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Genie?" she whispered as gently as she could manage, given her current state of fearful hope. But she had to apologize first before she asked him anything. She had to make things right.

"I'm sorry for taking out my grief on you yesterday. There was no reason to blame you."

He never even turned to look at her. "It's just that, Jas, I shoulda been there for him. But I saw Carpet in pieces and was trying to help keep him safe. You know someone for a couple of millennia, and you just gotta help 'em. I mean, I never…I never woulda thought Al wouldn't make it out."

Carpet moved toward her wistfully, his tassels hanging in guilt. Did he blame himself for yesterday? She touched him gently, trying to let him know she didn't blame him, it wasn't his fault. She couldn't have asked Genie to forsake him for Aladdin.

Aladdin.

She blinked back tears that threatened to flood her eyes once again, as she remembered his broken body lying in the gorge. But she couldn't cry now. Yes, he was dead, but there was still hope that he wouldn't be for much longer.

"I know, Genie. You saved a friend in need, and even if you had known, you couldn't have chosen one or the other. But," she began apprehensively, "You're almost completely all-powerful, right? Can't you just bring him back to life?"

He didn't move. Her stomach churned and clenched, as she held her breath for his response. Why wasn't he saying anything? She started shifting her weight nervously. Couldn't he just tell her that he could do it, that everything would be all right? Why hadn't he just said those words already?

"I'm so sorry, Jas. I can't. Believe me if I could, I would have done it. But it's one of the limits to a genie's power. I can't bring anybody back to life- not even him."

Her heart felt as if it had dropped like a lead weight to the ground. What was he saying? That no one could help her? No. No, it couldn't be true.

She screamed in her thoughts, desperately searching for someone, something to blame for her grief. The all-pervasive fear of Allah she had been taught since childhood no longer terrified her; in her heart she blamed the only target she could find, as the tears streamed down her face. Why was He doing this to her? Had He given her true love, only to take it away, and then had He given her hope of bringing him back, only to have Him snatch that away from her too? Her heart raged in grief inside her chest. How dare He do this to her. How dare He do this to Aladdin. What kind of sick, merciless God could He be?

She gritted her teeth angrily; if she couldn't turn to Allah, if she couldn't turn to Genie for help, then she'd just have to try something else- something much darker.

She turned and furiously walked away from her friends, not even bothering to look at them as she left.

"Jas, where are you going?" Genie softly called out after her.

"To Jafar's study. If you can't help me, if He can't help me," she spat out, brusquely motioning towards the sky, "then maybe I can find something there that can."

Her friends sat back, stunned at the audacity of her statement. Questioning the Divine was simply just not done; the fear of Allah's wrath permeated almost every aspect of daily life. But she just didn't care anymore.

"But, Jas…it could be dangerous. Dark magic is not something to fool around with."

She glared at him. "I don't care," she said, emphatically punctuating every word. "I'd rather face a thousand perils, hell, I'd rather lose my soul than not do anything to bring him back."

With that, she turned and left her friends.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

A strange feeling of déjà vu washed over her as she stepped into the cool dark corridor that led to Jafar's study. Only two days ago, she had been chained to a wall, feeling completely helpless when she learned of Aladdin's walk to the executioner's block. She had prayed then for his rescue. And maybe He had saved him then, but if He had, He had done it so that she could watch the love of her life be brutally crushed to death. Her hands clenched in firm resolve; she wouldn't pray this time, not to Him, not anymore. No, she would save Aladdin on her own. It was the only chance he had of coming back.

She made her way into the dim room and paused to light a lamp that was lying on a nearby table. Its flames danced against the walls with a hellish glow, almost as if they too were warning her of the path she was now following.

Damn them, she didn't care.

Ignoring the foreboding light, she moved away from the table to examine the contents of a bookshelf that was on the brink of collapse from all the heavy tomes and scrolls. She opened one after another. _Transmogrification Spells of the Mystics of the Far East_. _Ancient Alchemy Secrets_. _The Invocation of Asura. Mind Alteration and Control_. _The Sacred Spells of Angra Mainyu_. _The Curse of Shayatin_. _The Legend of the Lamp_.

Oh, so that was how he knew about Genie. In any other circumstance, she would have been tempted to read it and some of the other mysteries his library contained, but at the moment, she had far more pressing secrets to discover…like how to conquer death.

She sighed and resumed scanning the shelf. More curses, more secrets, but nothing about bringing someone back to life. Damn them all, this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped. Brushing away the dust that had accumulated on her clothes, she moved away to another shelf, hoping this one would contain the answer.

"Princess?"

She turned. Iago was perched near the doorway, looking downward, almost unsure of how she would act towards him, if she would also blame him for Aladdin's death.

He cleared his throat, "Princess, I'm sorry. He saved my life, ya know. But I didn't mean for him to die."

She didn't say anything. She just nodded absently and continued perusing the shelf for information.

"Look. I don't do this mushy stuff very often. I just thought that maybe I could help you."

"Do you know of something in here that can help me?" she asked hopefully.

He flapped over to the bookshelf. "There was one a few years ago. You see, Jafar had been looking for this ultimate source of power- some crappy gauntlet- but it belonged to this real hard-case necromancer Destane."

"I mean, this guy was something else; even Jafar gave up on the gauntlet after that 'cause he didn't want to tangle with Destane. And I sure didn't want to be messin' with that kind of power and end up a Mamluk."

"A what?"

"Err, never mind. Anyways, the rumor was…Oh, here it is," he said, pulling out a rather large scroll. "_Necromancy and the Black Sands_. Anyways, the rumor was that this guy was the best necromancer around. There wasn't nothing he couldn't bring back."

Her heart skipped a beat, as she paused and looked at the bird. Had she heard him correctly? "He…he can bring Aladdin back to life?"

"Yeah, but need I remind you that there was nothing that he couldn't kill either? The guy is dangerous, Princess. I wouldn't go messin' with him."

"Then why would you even tell me about him if you don't think I should go?"

He ruffled his feathers. "Look, if you hadn't found a way to save Aladdin, who woulda been blamed eventually? Me. That's who. You're not someone I want to mess with. I'm just savin' my tail feathers here. I'm not exactly on good terms with any of the other royals, but I like living at the palace, so you know, don't tell them I told you about any of this. But…but at least now I've warned you before you go out and do something incredibly stupid on your own."

She looked at him, her mind barely able to process his warning before he turned to fly out of the study. "Besides," he called behind him, "you've survived Jafar twice. You just might be lucky enough to survive Destane, too."

He lowered his voice, glancing nervously around him to make sure no eavesdropping ears could hear him. "And don't tell anybody, but I kinda miss that poofy-haired kid." And with that, he flew out of the room.

She looked down at the scroll in her hand. _Necromancy and the Black Sands_. Could she do it? Could she go there and possibly risk her life to save him? She looked at the scroll; the Land of the Black Sands wasn't too far, maybe half a day's journey by camel.

She sighed. Iago had said he was force to be reckoned with, and from the looks of the scroll, Destane didn't take kindly to magical intruders or threats to his power. But if there had been a better way, any other way, Iago would have mentioned it.

No, going to Destane was her only option. She would go alone, bearing gifts, being as utterly unthreatening as she could possibly be. She just had to hope that he wouldn't….Her thoughts trailed off. She could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest, rapidly rising and falling with each breath, but the hyperventilation only accentuated her fear. She was scared, scared of the possibilities of what Destane could do to her, of what he might demand as payment.

She looked down at the floor, her eye catching the hem of her mourning dress. Aladdin. If she didn't go, she would have to give up Aladdin forever, she would have to deal with the never-ending guilt that she had possessed the power to save him but had done nothing. She would be haunted by him, the sight of his helpless body pulverized by rock, for the rest of her life

No, she couldn't handle that. Her sanity couldn't handle that.

She decided that she had to make the journey. She would go to the Black Sands and save him herself.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Many thanks again go to Cantare for all her help as well as to everyone who has read and reviewed. Once again, reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading!!


	4. Chapter 3

As evening approached, she gathered her friends together and told them of her decision to travel to the Land of the Black Sands. Genie vehemently argued against it. That was no place to travel alone, no place at all for a princess, he contended. But she wouldn't budge; no, she was going, and she was going alone.

"Jas, you might not come back alive. Think of your father, think of your people," he said finally, "Think of what Aladdin would want you to do."

She looked at him steadily, her eyes unwavering. Her determination was one of her best qualities, even though one could argue that it was merely mislabeled stubbornness. And that stubbornness refused to let her back down from what she felt in her heart she had to do for them all.

"I have thought of them. Genie, I…I don't think I can rule well if he's not with me; I can't rule with someone else by my side, and no one will let me rule alone. Aladdin…Aladdin would want me to do what's best for me, best for us- I'm going to the Black Sands."

The genie just looked at her sadly, but in his eyes, she could see that he understood. He broke her gaze and nodded, "We're coming with you."

"No," she murmured, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, "Genie, you can't. From what I've read in Jafar's lab, Destane doesn't take kindly to magical intruders; all of our lives would be in danger. I think…I think my best bet is to go alone, not as a princess, but as a royal messenger bearing tribute from Agrabah."

She could see his jaw set in frustration, torn by the possibility that something could happen to her if he didn't go and the realization that something probably would if he did. "Fine," he eventually conceded, "but I'm gonna be listening for you. You get in trouble, you just call my name, and I'll hit Destane harder than Bruce Lee on steroids. Okay?"

She smiled, relieved that he was in agreement with her, despite her confusion over what "Bruce Lee" or "steroids" could possibly mean. "Okay, Genie. Thank you."

He put on a mask of false optimism, perhaps to buoy his own spirits more than anyone else's. "Well, then let's get to work on designing this royal tribute, shall we? We've got a sorcerer to impress."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

She had never seen the desert appear in such an unearthly color…black. It was unnatural, unholy; the blackness almost seemed like it extended to the sky, dimming the sun on her skin. She shifted nervously in her saddle. What was she even doing seeking the help of someone she knew almost nothing about? Iago had said that Jafar avoided Destane, and Jafar had been a powerful sorcerer even before he had used his wishes. What chance would a heartbroken princess have of enlisting his help?

Still she hoped he wouldn't see her as a threat to his power and would accept the handsome tribute she proffered. She sighed as she glanced at the long caravan trailing her camel; Genie had really outdone himself this time. No kingdom in the Seven Deserts had ever seen so generous a proposition from Agrabah; not even the showy display Genie had designed for Aladdin's grand entrance as Prince Ali could compete with the multitude of riches she would offer Destane.

But she couldn't help but worry if it would be enough for such a powerful sorcerer. What else did she have that he could want? She had no magical objects to offer him- they had decided against including those in her tribute. They could only serve two purposes: to increase his already fearsome power or to endanger her life should he perceive them as a threat. No, better he think her stupid than a threat.

Nor could she offer him Agrabah. She did not have that power yet, and even if she did, her duties as a princess required her to place the people's needs above her own.

She swallowed nervously as she thought of another possibility, one she had been desperately trying to deny, and drew her robes tighter around her. Thankfully she had changed from her normal princess attire to the more conservative clothes of a royal advisor from Agrabah. A considerable portion of her stomach still lay bare for anyone to see, but as long as she kept her robes wrapped securely around her, she hoped her beauty would not tempt the sorcerer. She had to have limits, boundaries she would not cross. She could not ever give her heart or her body to anyone but Aladdin, even if she only did it to bring him back to life. No, she could not resurrect him just to kill him slowly with her betrayal. She simply had to hope that Destane would accept her monetary tribute and agree to bring Aladdin back to her.

As the treasure-laden procession wound its way through the city that lay at the foot of Destane's palatial stronghold, another strong feeling of dread clawed at her mind. They were well into the city by then, and yet not one person had greeted them. Not a single curtain parted, not a single shutter opened so that a curious eye could view the unusual commotion. Did any living creature even inhabit this city? Would Destane even be at the palace anymore? She silently hoped that he was still alive, still living at the ominous fortress that loomed overhead. He was her only hope of resurrecting Aladdin.

She closed her eyes and steadied her nerves. She had to stay calm, impassive throughout her dealings with the sorcerer. Any fear she displayed would only give him more power over her and her precarious situation; any emotion would reveal her as the princess, not the trusted confidant, the mere royal handmaid she would claim to be. She had decided that pretending to be one of her own royal servants would be her best chance for success. She could not pretend to be an ambassador, as she was not male, but she could not disclose her true identity and endanger her own life and the lives of her citizens should Destane choose to hold her for ransom.

She slowly brought her camel to a halt at the foot of his palace's massive doors. Still no movement acknowledged her presence, not even a guard stopped to question her intent. She hesitated before she pounded the heavy knocker against the door; perhaps if Destane still resided at this desolate place, he would be enraged at her intrusion. Still…she had not come this far, she had not raised her hopes this much just to turn back now without trying.

A sharp creak from the door silenced her doubts. Someone, something still dwelt here, and maybe, he would be willing to hear her proposition. A tentative confidence swept over her; she would convince him to help her. Aladdin depended on her, and she would not disappoint him in this life or the next.

She had to be calm, poised. She straightened her back, clearing her throat. "I am a humble royal messenger from Agrabah, and I…"

She lost her voice at the sight of the ghastly creature that stood porter to the entrance. The sheer shock and terror she felt froze her in place; she couldn't move, couldn't escape its macabre presence. It was decidedly humanoid in its shape and form, but its features drooped and sagged out of their proper proportions, almost as if it were rotting alive.

Was it angry at her? Was she going to die before even speaking to Destane? Her thoughts raced wildly, but it simply stared blankly at her, making no move to draw the sword resting conspicuously in its scabbard. Surely if it had wanted to hurt her, it would have done so by now; rather, it almost seemed to be waiting for her to state her intentions.

Blinking back the fear she was sure shone in her eyes, she inhaled and met the creature's inhuman gaze. "I seek an audience with the master of this land. In return I offer generous tribute from the coffers of Agrabah."

The guard's grizzly expression did not change. He simply turned and walked away, seemingly inviting her to follow him inside. She paused, willing away the fear that seized her heart, and stepped inside. She had to do this for Aladdin, no matter how afraid she was, no matter what other sorts of gruesome beings she might encounter. She had to bring him back.

A new kind of darkness obscured her sight as she entered the stronghold; she could barely discern the outline of the doorman waiting for her a few feet ahead. How could anyone live in such blackness? The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she considered a new, frighteningly disturbing possibility. What if Destane wasn't even human? The creature leading her certainly wasn't human, although it did appear to have some of the same features. The lord of this land might be even less human, perhaps some sort of vicious demon.

No, she had to calm down, regain her wits. If Destane was anything less than human, surely Iago or the Genie would have mentioned it. Iago had simply said that he was powerful, powerful enough for Jafar not to cross paths with him. A fearsome sorcerer, but not a bloodthirsty demon.

Suppressing the fear that still lingered in her heart, she drew closer to her guide, so as not to get lost in the dismal halls. Strangely though, the halls now grew brighter as they progressed further inside. An eerie bluish light flickered upon the walls and illuminated rich tapestries that depicted strange creatures, creatures she assumed only existed in children's fairy tales…or nightmares.

Finally, they reached a set of ornately carved doors at the end of the hallway. She stared and tried to regain a mask of total composure. She was merely a messenger at the moment, a simple bearer of tribute; Destane could not see the fear or desperation that still panged her thoughts.

The guard pushed open one of the doors. She grimaced slightly; the exertion seemed to rend its haggard limbs almost completely from its body. It appeared blithely unaffected by this fact, though, as it sluggishly shuffled its feet and resumed its duties as a doorman, waiting for her to enter the dim room.

"And just what have my Mamluks dragged in this evening?"

She froze. This…this wasn't the sort of greeting she had expected, but then she hadn't expected to see anything as horrifying as that guard, either. She scanned the room, her eyes seeking the owner of the smooth, almost sinister voice. They finally landed on a lone figure, languidly reclining on a simple throne.

"At least they had the sense to bring it in alive this time."

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words left her tongue. Could this be Destane? Her stomach clenched and unclenched in fear and uncertainty from the meaning of his words. She couldn't tell if he was threatening or merely mocking her.

He sighed, "You could at least approach and tell me what you want. It's generally considered poor manners to linger in the doorway."

Her eyes flashed in annoyance at his condescending tone, but she approached the throne with as decisive and official a gait as she could muster. The figure sitting there was thankfully human, but much younger than she had expected. He looked barely older than she, but hadn't Iago said that Destane had been terrorizing cities long before Jafar had come to be royal vizier?

"I am a royal messenger from Agrabah, and I come with a humble offer for Lord Destane from the Sultan. In exchange for…"

"Ah, Destane. I'm afraid you've come a few months too late. You see, he met a rather… unfortunate demise."

Her breath once again caught in her throat, as a cruel smile graced his handsome but decidedly sinister features. Destane was dead. But then who was this mysterious man that sat before her? His son, perhaps? He certainly dressed the part of royalty; his dark blue and black attire would draw no stares at a state function in Agrabah, if it weren't for the only anomaly in his appearance. A rather worn-looking glove, something more aptly suited for a stablehand than a monarch, encased his right hand.

He continued, deliberate condescension lacing his voice, "But it would be a real shame to waste all that fanfare assembled at my gates. Why don't you just tell me what you're doing here so far from your kingdom all by yourself?"

She didn't pause to wonder how long he had known about her presence, how long he had been watching her approach. She would not let him fluster her now, before he had even heard her offer.

She cleared her throat and hoped her voice wouldn't crack as she spoke. "I come seeking the services of a necromancer."

He raised his eyebrows in aloof fascination. "A necromancer? You look alive and well enough, what possible use could you have for my services?"

She drew back in shock. "You…you're a necromancer? Who are you?"

He smirked, "News obviously travels slowly around these parts. Although, I would have thought they would have taught you a little something about foreign relations before sending you as a messenger. Ignorance is rarely an effective method for getting what you want."

She bristled at his indirect insults, but he continued without reservation, apparently not caring about his own hypocrisy. Rudeness was hardly good practice, either, when receiving foreign ensigns.

"Still, I suppose I should answer your questions. We can't keep that pretty little head of yours confused for too long."

He eyed her amusedly as she glared at him, appalled by his insolence. She had never been spoken to in such a manner- she was a princess after all, although he could hardly be expected to know that. Still, his attitude infuriated her.

"I am Mozenrath, the current Lord of the Black Sands and the most powerful sorcerer in the Seven Deserts. And yes, as you so eloquently stated, I am a necromancer by trade. Although, I would have thought that my guards would have alerted you to that fact already."

She could feel the acid rising in her throat as she recalled the arm that almost fell off as guard opened the door. She had been correct in her assertion that it wasn't fully human- it was a reanimated corpse.

"And now," he said, leaning forward slightly in his seat, "what exactly do you want from me?"

She reassumed the stoic mask of royalty and looked him squarely in the eye.

"The city's greatest hero has died, and the sultan is willing to pay a handsome reward to whoever can bring him back alive." She eyed the rotting corpse still standing at the door. "Fully alive."

He laughed as he caught her meaning. "Half-dead servants are more economical than live ones. Bringing someone completely back to life is such a tedious affair. And besides," he added with a wicked grin, "they're much more expendable when dealing with intruders."

She leered at him warily. What sort of man could this possibly be, that placed such little stock in honoring the dead? Maybe Iago and Genie were right; coming to the Black Sands would lead her to nothing but trouble.

He raised his gloved hand and conjured an image of the vast caravan still waiting at his gates. "I find it hard to believe that the sultan would empty his treasury for one hero. Doesn't he know that's one of the occupational risks? Fueled by luck and glory, they soundly thrash one villain after the other to preserve the status quo, until…" He flicked his wrist and the image disappeared in a cloud of smoke, "they finally meet their match, and all their delusions of grandeur go up in flames."

His arrogance was really starting to grate on her nerves. "Delusions of grandeur?" she asked almost incredulously. "Is it such a delusion to want to help people, to want to protect the people you love? But perhaps you've never had to chance to know anything about that. From the looks of things around here, you're the only one who is actually alive."

He simply shrugged and continued unfazed. "True, I am the only human in these parts, but that doesn't change the inherent fallibility of your argument. How many heroes are truly in it to help people? Sure they may save a few lives, but they're generally more famous for the lives they took, rather than the lives they saved. And even then, their motives may be questioned. How many people do you know that would willingly risk their lives if it weren't for the promise of gold and glory?"

Jasmine stared at Mozenrath's smug expression. Sure, Aladdin had become a hero to save her life, but he had only done that because he loved her. It hadn't mattered to him what horrific enemy he had defeated, right? No matter, she was bringing him back because he was a good person. She opened her mouth to point out the sheer folly of calling all heroes the same without looking at their individual merits and motives, but he cut her off before she had the chance.

"Besides, I'm sure the streets of Agrabah are just teeming with lesser life forms not intelligent enough to realize the utter stupidity in heroism. For a much lower personal cost, the sultan could offer them a portion of his wealth or an invitation to his harem, and the palace would be swamped with fools just itching to curry his favor."

"And just think," he added flippantly, "if one of them died, it would only lessen the burden on Agrabah's taxpayers." He smiled cruelly, "They might even be more expendable than Mamluks."

Jasmine seethed at him through gritted teeth. How dare he! Aladdin was NOT a lesser life form, some worthless burden on society…and just who was he to make that kind of assertion? It's not like Aladdin was the one who was reanimating corpses for a living. She opened her mouth in retort to his cruel suggestions but stopped before she said anything, as the image of Aladdin's broken body floated into her consciousness.

"This hero happened to be quite intelligent and engaged to the princess," she contended, desperately trying to maintain her cool. "Although I fail to see how any of this matters to you. If the sultan is so stupid as to offer you this kind of reward for someone so 'expendable,' you can't possibly be much smarter than he is to not take advantage of it right away."

Mozenrath sat back and grinned. It almost appeared like he was enjoying this conversation.

"Ah, of course the hero would be engaged to the princess. Princesses seem to have an unusual knack for getting in trouble, probably resulting from generations of inbreeding. Naturally, our hero would want to take advantage of the inherent stupidity that got her into some helpless situation in the first place. Let me guess. Someone kidnapped her and held her for ransom?"

She fumed as she clenched her fists, her hands trembling from anger. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She needed to stay calm, poised, but his insolence was too much for her to bear quietly. "He saved the kingdom from a maniacal sorcerer, another one of the self-proclaimed most powerful in the world," she countered, barely containing the raging disdain she felt for the man in front of her. "Someone probably should have taught you sorcerers that everyone can't honestly claim that title. But maybe that doesn't even matter. You're just about whatever allows you to instill the most fear in others."

She stepped back and looked at him, his face still displaying that smug smirk that grated on her every nerve. And then it hit her- she was just wasting her breath. He wouldn't help her; he didn't care about her offer. Slowly taking a deep breath, she turned to leave. There was no sense in wasting any more time here listening to his insults…she would just have to find another way to save Aladdin.

"Now really, Princess, it's a little soon to be leaving. I haven't actually rejected your proposal yet, have I?"

She stopped, and turned almost in disbelief. Princess? Had her little tirade given her away that completely? He still looked at her with the same arrogant grin on his face, but his eyes registered a slight change in the respect he held for her.

He must have noticed the almost quizzical look on her face, as he laughed, "Sultans rarely send women as ambassadors, and you're not meek enough to be convincing as a servant, so that left only one other option."

She glared at him, irritated that her ruse had been so transparent, but even more so that he had seen through it because of the same two pitfalls she had been desperate to avoid. She stepped forward to face him with as much poise as she could possibly feign. "So now that you know who I am, what is your answer to my proposal? Will you bring him back to life?"

Mozenrath seamlessly slid off his throne, approaching her like a shark circling its next meal. He smiled suggestively, "Well that all depends on what you can give me in return."

She backed away from him in indignation and shock. "I already volunteered to give you the treasure of Agrabah," she bit off through gritted teeth. "I won't consider giving you anything else. If you can't accept that, then I guess this conversation is over."

He stepped back and eyed her with an amused gleam. "It really doesn't take much to set you off, does it? The thing is, Princess, I'm more of a collector of magic than wealth. Honestly, you really should have done some research before coming here. But no matter. Perhaps, if it doesn't offend your rigid sense of propriety too much, you could accept a trade. I need someone pure of heart to help me retrieve a magical artifact. You see, necromancy unfortunately tends to taint the purity of one's soul in the eyes of the gods. If you help me acquire it, I'll give you your precious hero, alive and well."

Her heart nearly skipped a beat; he was willing to help her! But it almost seemed too surreal. She knew very little about the man standing before her, only what she had seen so far throughout their conversation. How could she possibly trust that he wouldn't harm her or Aladdin?

"What kind of object? And how do I know that you're not going to harm me to get it?" she asked, folding her arms as she stubbornly revealed the terms of her acceptance. "I cannot agree to this unless I have some sort of assurance that you will not harm me or Aladdin."

"So this hero has a name, does he? No, Princess, I have no intention of directly harming you or your precious "Aladdin," but I cannot guarantee your absolute safety. The Underworld is dangerous; it's certainly not a place befitting someone as pampered as yourself." He paused for a moment, moving to stand directly before her. "But the real question you should be asking yourself is not whether you should trust me, but whether you care for him enough to risk your life for him, like he has done for you," he trailed off, apparently trying to gauge her reaction to his statement before he continued.

"Oh, and as to this artifact, it's merely something I plan on using for protection, something a little more reliable than undead guards. They're always falling apart on the job," he added with a wry smirk.

She ignored the last part of his comment as a fresh wave of guilt flooded her senses. Aladdin had risked everything to save her life from Jafar; he had braved the brunt of Jafar's fury, even going to the ends of the earth, just so he could save her. She had to do the same for him. She closed her eyes, as she considered her options. This necromancer was probably the most powerful one in the world, especially if he had defeated the notorious Destane; he was her best chance of bringing Aladdin back to life. She had to trust him for now. If Aladdin could survive the ends of the earth, then she could survive the Underworld. Her eyes flitted open as she realized the grave implications of his previous statement.

"The Underworld?"

"Yes, Princess, unfortunately the spells required to bring someone completely back to life necessitate our going to the Underworld to retrieve his soul. And Hades generally frowns upon mortals stealing his precious souls, so we may be in for quite a fight."

She mulled over his last statement. It was possible that if she went down into the Underworld, she might never come back out alive, but if she didn't go, she'd never see Aladdin again. And Mozenrath had said he wouldn't hurt her; after all, he did need her to retrieve some object. Shouldn't she take the risk- for Aladdin's sake, for the sake of her own sanity?

She opened her mouth to agree but once again faltered in her resolve. Would she be abandoning her friends, her father, her people if she went into the Underworld? What if it took years before she could come out again?

"Just how long will we be there?"

"It's hard to say exactly. That's the thing about eternity; time is merely a construct. Although it's generally agreed that years down there correspond to mere earth days up here. Time flies by when you're having fun with all those dead virgins."

Jasmine bristled but kept silent. It would only be a few days; her father and friends wouldn't have time to worry themselves sick about her, and wouldn't it be worth it to bring Aladdin back, to bring some semblance of order back into their world?

"Okay, Mozenrath," she whispered, hoping that she was making the right choice, "It's a deal."

He smiled that wickedly smooth smile of his. "Good to see that you're in, Princess. Come back tomorrow night. By then I'll have all the necessary ingredients to open the portal to the Underworld. Oh, and you might want to wear something more appropriate for the surroundings. Bright colors tend to put the gods of death in a foul mood."

And with that, he left in a flourish of blue light, leaving her to follow the Mamluk back to her caravan.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He sat alone in his study, the customary silence of the Black Sands interrupted only by the steady sounds of her caravan returning to Agrabah. It was strange. Until today he had never actually let someone leave his realm alive. Of course, in the few months since the start of his reign, not one of the trespassers had even deserved to live. There had been the occasional pickpocket who had heard about the massive diamonds illuminating the city streets. Bloody fools, thinking their petty-thieving skills could outmatch a lifetime of scholarly pursuit and magical training. There had even been the one aspiring wizard, who apparently knew enough about the Black Sands to come seeking their power, but not enough about the general rules of magic to realize that sorcerers never willingly shared their power with wretched underlings unless they were looking for an apprentice, which he most certainly was not. His magic was hard-earned, not free for all.

The fingers of his gloved hand curled around the armrest of his chair, each movement triggering a string of almost inaudible clicks, bone on bone. His pursuit of power had torn the flesh off his right hand, the visible consequence of dealing with death on an almost daily basis. It was unavoidable, really; he was simply too good at his trade. He had robbed too many souls from their eternal sleep, trapped too many souls in their almost lifeless shell of a body, condemning them to lifetimes of servitude.

But it was all for naught. The guardians of the Underworld had caught on soon enough when souls had started to simply disappear. Too many souls, they had said. The balance of power was upset; a price must be paid.

Two months. Two damn months and they had already stripped the flesh from his hand up to his wrist. He had learned to deal with the relentlessly gnawing pain, the realization that they would never cease in exacting sacrifice from him. Each moment he used the power was another death to him. He had learned to subdue the pain; a lifetime of magic had taught him enough spells to numb the senses, helpful in withstanding torture and fatigue, but that didn't change the mounting inevitability of his death.

They wanted to make him feel death, to feel as utterly powerless and bound to it as his Mamluks were to life. For all practical concerns, his Mamluks should be dead- no free will, no sentient thoughts, no emotions, no physical sensations registered with them. Souls confined to a body over which they had no control except to blindly obey their master's whims. And now these gods of death were attempting to trap his body in the Underworld, to force his soul to relinquish its control and join the multitudes of mindless minions, forever enduring arbitrary punishments for their misdeeds on earth.

But they had gravely underestimated his resolve. He gripped his chair more tightly, his fingers clawing into the wooden frame. Even through his leather gauntlet, he could feel the grains bowing to the pressure. He knew the real reason for his slow, torturous punishment; he was a threat to their power. It wasn't their pity for the souls; it was their utter lack of ability to stop him from stealing their purpose for existing. He mocked them and their self-claimed omnipotence. He mocked them because he knew it simply wasn't true. He was already the greatest sorcerer the world had ever known, and he was on his way to becoming greater than the gods themselves.

His hold on the chair slackened, a cool smile gracing his lips. He was certainly more well-versed in magic and power than they. He had discovered sources of power untapped for years- secret spells, forbidden crystals, magical realms, powers of the earth and sky, but none were as alluring as the power over life and death. Nothing in his experience had a greater capacity to bring joy or instill fear. Nothing limited one's accomplishments, how much one could experience, how powerful one felt as the almost universally accepted fact of death.

It was almost accepted. He was the exception.

This princess, though, had immense potential. She too sought to conquer death, to realize that even an eternity of mindless bliss had no appeal over the taste of power and free will.

She claimed it was all for love, but there was a deeper, unspoken reason lurking in her heart. An attempt to mitigate guilt, perhaps? Or maybe she too was attempting to exert control over her life, to perform an impossible task, to gain the power to get what she wanted.

He slowly stood, walking with measured steps to the lone window in his study, calculating how he could use her in his quest to conquer death, to bring the battle to the gods. His research had disclosed to him an immortal being, famed for his ability to travel to the mortal realms, who plucked amaranthine beauties from their perfect lives and planted them in his own deathly marriage bed long before fate had decreed their demise. This wraith might hold the vital pieces he needed to conquer fate, to find the immortals' Achilles' heel and beat the gods at their own game.

The last signs of her lavish procession disappeared over the distant horizon. It would be a shame to waste all that fire and beauty she possessed on a simpleton hero. She could be vital in dealing with this life-deprived, lust-crazed ghoul. He let out a low chuckle; she certainly would not react favorably to being cast as bait for the undead.

But she would never know until it was too late; she would never learn of his intentions to sacrifice her for his cause, to satiate his thirst for control. She would think her journey was to save the life of her hero, but in all probability, it might take her own life from her. Such was the price one paid for power over life and death. Such was the price he desperately hoped to avoid.


	5. Chapter 4

She couldn't tell the exact moment she entered the Black Sands; everything was equal in the darkness, everything seemed so surreal. Here she was, stealing away from the palace in the middle of the night to go to the Underworld with a man she knew very little about. She hadn't even told her father about her plans; he would only worry and send the guards after her. So she had left him a note not to worry, she just had to get away from the palace for a few days, Genie was with her. She knew that Genie would keep to his end of the bargain and stay away from the palace, and she hoped her other friends would do the same. She had never practiced so much deception before, or done anything quite so dangerous. Maybe Iago was right, this was an incredibly stupid thing to do. But she simply had no other choice.

Feeling for the whip attached near her hips, she fingered its leather threads and steadied her breath, exhaling slowly as Carpet flew silently over the moonlit dunes to their destination. She had never used it as a weapon, but she was familiar with its power from the many hours she had spent at the palace stables- she could defend herself if need be. She would prove to herself, no…prove to Mozenrath, that she did not need a hero to save her at every moment. She was no longer a mere waif, a helpless princess waiting on her tower balcony for her hero. This time she'd do the rescuing.

An uneasy feeling gripped her stomach as Carpet wound its way through the deadened city. Again, no one stopped them or even appeared in the streets- this truly was the land of the dead. She briefly wondered with amusement if the Underworld would be more alive than the Land of the Black Sands but quickly stifled a small laugh at that thought; this was certainly no time to laugh, not when they were so close to arriving at the Citadel doors. Maybe she was already losing her mind; either that or her nerves were so frayed that she couldn't control her reactions anymore.

A solitary howl sounded in the city; the rustling of threadbare curtains abandoned to a slow death by moths and sand chilled the blood in her veins and brought her back to reality. Just the wind, she whispered to no one. Just the wind echoing the loneliness in her heart.

Carpet must have also heard the wind, or else he must have sensed her growing apprehension; he weaved more and more slowly through the last few city streets, losing momentum with the passing of each derelict doorway, each forsaken window. Maybe he too was dreading leaving her here, helpless and alone before a dark sorcerer. But his loyalty to her and Aladdin prevented him from turning around and heading straight back to Agrabah; he wouldn't interfere with her quest, not until she had exhausted all possibilities of bringing Aladdin back to life.

Warily floating over the stone bridge lying at the foot of the massive gates, he finally stopped at the Citadel doors, forcing an involuntary shiver to course through her limbs. They had arrived. There was no turning back now.

She stepped off the carpet, timidly grasping his tassel in a final reassurance that she would be safe, it would all be okay, and Aladdin would be with them again soon.

With that she knocked on the door and desperately tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach, gnawing incessantly at her sides in fearful anticipation. No answer. He couldn't be reneging on their agreement could he? A second, more terrifying wave of fear gripped her body. He had to be here; he had to still be willing to help her. She knocked again, her pulse racing, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

A low creak.

The door was opening!

She breathed a sigh of relief, no longer frightened by the grizzly guard that once again greeted her. True, their decaying forms still horrified her; she could probably live years among them and never get used to their haggard appearance, but she was no longer petrified to the point of immobility. They weren't here to hurt her, only to show her inside the Citadel. With a confidence she seemed to be feigning more and more lately, she stepped inside the dismal foyer, awaiting the Mamluks to escort her to their master.

As the massive front doors closed behind her, she turned to give Carpet one last brave smile, always keeping her eyes on her friend until the final moment. As the last trickles of light escaped from the gates, she found herself swallowed by a new kind of helplessness- one born from uncertainty, one born from a deal with a man she did not know if she could trust.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He heard the opening of the door behind him, but he didn't need to turn around to know who had entered. Even though the undead could hardly be considered intelligent creatures, his guards did have the sense not to interrupt him when he was working in his study. Besides, the slight hesitation in her footsteps was enough to identify her; he could hear the fear and uncertainty in her gait.

"Nice of you to return, Princess. I was getting worried that Daddy had stopped you from coming."

A pause. She was restraining herself.

"Despite all your inane assumptions about royalty, I happen to be fully capable of making my own decisions. Besides, he knows how important it is to bring Aladdin back."

He didn't acknowledge her comment but just kept stirring the potion needed to open the portal. He had been tediously working on it all day: measuring, boiling, chanting- all the necessary ingredients for a successful spell, and soon it would be ready.

"Ah, I see you learned nothing from all my observations about heroes yesterday," he sighed rather dramatically, halfway hoping to goad her further. In truth, he somewhat enjoyed watching her challenge almost every statement he made, despite her futile attempts to hold her tongue. It was certainly a contradiction, one that would make it all the more satisfying when he traded her to that undead polygamist. "What else can be expected from generations of inbreeding, I suppose. Still, I would have thought he wouldn't have liked to know his only daughter, as virtuous and pure as I'm sure all princesses are, was sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night to go traipsing about the seedy Underworld with a dark, unwholesome sorcerer. Oh well. My gain, I guess."

She bristled in anger. "As if you'd ever have a chance," she scoffed. "I'm sure you're _real_ lucky in romance, considering all the people you seem to know are half-dead."

She did have quite a temper, he mused, smiling in wicked satisfaction. He almost laughed as he thought of how much the ghoul would certainly enjoy taming his new bride, how much he would enjoy receiving her services in exchange for the…

Mozenrath lost his train of thought as he finally turned to look at her. Oh, that ghost would definitely enjoy this. She glared at him, no longer bothering to veil her contempt of him, yet somehow that made her all the more alluring. Or maybe it was the fear she couldn't quite conceal, the doubt that lingered in her gaze despite all her attempts to conduct herself with regal confidence. Or even perhaps the fact that she dressed in black, a far more appealing color in Mozenrath's opinion. His eyes lit up in amusement as he noticed the whip attached to her belt. That damn ghoul would definitely enjoy trading the secrets of his power for her.

He eyed her up and down more slowly now, making sure she noticed his deliberate attention to her appearance. He wanted to make her nervous; she needed to know that he was in control here. He might require her for his own quest, but they were certainly not going to be traveling as equals through the Underworld.

"At least you had the sense to listen when I told you to dress more appropriately." He paused, his mouth curving into a slow smile as he motioned to her exposed midriff. "Although showing a bit of skin there, aren't we? Afraid the hero's not going to want to forsake that harem of virgins for you?"

She glared at him hard, his smile only growing wider with her increasing irritation with him. She was fuming, but no matter. He immediately counterfeited disinterest and turned back to the potion bubbling atop a small burner on a table. Besides, it was nearly done by now and would require his constant supervision.

"Unlike you, Aladdin doesn't need attention from dead girls; he's got the real thing," she seethed, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "But maybe you should think about getting yourself some of these infamous virgins while we're down there. You're obviously hung up on the sheer lack of female company you have in this dreary dump. Besides, if they're dead they probably can't talk back or realize just how insufferable you truly are."

He sighed, "Touché."

She scoffed in response, but he didn't look back up at her. He needed to achieve just the right consistency for the spell to work; the guardians to the Underworld were sticklers for detail, bureaucrats in the worst sense of the word, who would refuse someone entry based on the slightest misstep. Personally, Mozenrath believed that most of the steps were unnecessary, just another ego trip for gods who had long outlived their usefulness. But he still obliged their requests for the moment; there was no sense in wasting precious resources fighting a mere sentry when he could strike at the top of the power pyramid. It was best to do what they required until he could reclaim the price they were exacting from him. Then nothing would stop him from exposing their weakness to the world.

"What are you doing exactly?" she asked, moving closer behind him to peer over his shoulders.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he sighed almost exasperatedly. He hated to be interrupted during the last parts of spell, where mistakes were often the most fatal. "I'm trying to finish the potion we need to open the portal to the Underworld. And it'd be nice if you could be quiet so I can get it right. I'd hate for you to have to stay here another whole day because I had to remix it."

He glanced up briefly at her only to notice her scowl. Still, she said nothing, just quietly moved away from the table. At least she had the common sense to do what was best for her. He just needed to stir it a little more, just a little bit more and it would be finished.

He quickly removed the concoction from the searing heat and poured it into a flask, the unearthly purple liquid almost bubbling over the top as he did so. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the Princess, her own eyes wide with amazement at the potion, now glowing even brighter with all the magic it contained. He had to hand it to the gods in that respect; despite the fact that most of the potions and offerings they required were utter waste, they did know how to stun mortals with their flashy theatrics.

Carefully clutching the boiling hot flask with his gloved hand, he moved away from the table and proceeded to the door, yanking it open with measured forcefulness.

"Well, are you coming or not? I don't have all night to wait for you."

"Wait. Going where?" she asked, her royal mind probably overwhelmed by all that she had seen in his lab. "I thought everything was ready here."

"To an old storeroom. I'm not opening a portal and destroying lifetimes of knowledge and research just so you can rescue your precious hero. It's far better to do it where nothing can be harmed."

She nodded but didn't say anything as she quietly moved past him and stood outside the door. He could sense the hesitation in her steps as she walked by, but she still maintained a great deal of poise, even though that she was going to be dealing directly with death for however long they stayed in the Underworld. She was certainly braver than most, and for that he was grateful; at least he wouldn't have to deal with a hysterical woman during their journey.

He smiled at her as he closed the door, the light from the hallway casting her pretty features in a light blue shade. "Well, Princess, shall we continue?"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Wordlessly, she followed the sorcerer down the long corridor. She had no idea how he even managed to know his way around; everything she had seen in his Citadel so far had looked the same- cold stone walls, conservative chandeliers that illuminated everything in a dim bluish tint, endless closed doors, the occasional tapestry depicting one fearsome monster after another.

Jasmine couldn't fathom what would drive any human being to live in such depressing conditions; most people she knew craved company, or at least attention, and yet Mozenrath seemed to prefer silence and solitude. But yet, even that wasn't completely true; he engaged her in conversation and almost seemed to enjoy doing so. He truly was an enigma to her, but one that she could not afford to unravel. She was not here for a social call; saving Aladdin was her first and only priority. She would not waste her time on other matters.

"You certainly have gotten quiet now, Princess. And I'm guessing it's not from all the extravagant wealth I have so clearly displayed," he said sarcastically.

He stopped in front of a door and turned toward her with a sinister smile. "Having doubts?" he whispered, his voice reaching low, intimate levels.

She swallowed hard and stared back into his deep black eyes. He was anticipating her response…fear. He craved it; he wanted to prove to her that he was in control, that he could set her on edge with a single utterance issued from his lips.

"Only about your sense of décor," she remarked as nonchalantly as she could. "I find it hard to believe that someone as powerful as you claim to be couldn't conjure himself up some nice Persian rugs and a decent paint job for this place."

His grin grew wider. "It suits my purposes well enough. Besides, while my Mamluks may make decent maids, they're hardly connoisseurs of fine art. But if you think you can do better, then by all means, go ahead. I'd love to employ the services of a princess as talented as yourself."

She caught the insinuations in his tone and stepped away, glaring at him coldly. "Too bad you'll never get that chance. So like I said, why don't we just hurry up and open the portal to the Underworld, so you can find some of those virgins and make domestic help out of them?"

She stormed past him and continued down the hallway. The innuendo was too much; he was blatantly insulting her role as princess and her engagement to Aladdin. She stomped on the cold tiles, reaching the end of the hallway before she turned and noticed that he had not followed her. She rolled her eyes; he was even more difficult than she had originally thought.

"Well, are we going to the storeroom or not?"

"We are, but you're not. You passed the door for it."

Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, as he smirked and opened the door to a narrow staircase. He stood coolly by the entrance, but she blew past him and waited for his lead in the cool darkness of the stairwell. Even with the light from the hallway, she could barely see the walls next to her; she would just have to feel along them to maintain her balance during the descent.

"Watch your step. Your hero's not here to rescue you if you fall."

She heard the door close behind her, and suddenly she was immersed in complete darkness and total silence. Had Mozenrath entered the room, had she just stepped into a trap? Her heart pounded wildly in her chest; maybe he had never the intention of taking her to rescue Aladdin. Why had she trusted him when she had known so little about him?

A small flicker of light suddenly shone behind her, casting wild shadows on the wall. She whirled and found Mozenrath, leaning against the doorjamb, smirking broadly at her at her foolish reaction to the darkness.

"Scared, Princess?" he said with a menacing smile. "It's a little early to be panicking- we're not even in the Underworld yet."

He pushed off from the door and slid up behind her, leaning down as he whispered. "But trust me. This is no fairy tale- it's only going to get worse from here."

She turned to meet him and looked him squarely in the eye. "I haven't changed my mind about going, despite all your pathetic attempts to frighten me into going home. So unless you want to spend the time finding a hobby other than trying to scare me, I think we should go ahead and get this little trip over with. I certainly don't want to have to endure too many days with you."

He looked away and began descending down the stairs. "As you wish, Princess. Although I think you'll be glad for my company once we get down there. Most souls tend to be a little dull. Your hero probably fits right in."

She glared at him. "Dull? As compared to rude, condescending, and completely unbearable? The Underworld will probably be a welcome relief from you."

"Loyal to your hero till the end, I see. An admirable quality, but personally I've never had any use for blind faith in anything."

He stopped, as they reached a worn wooden door. "But we're here. Let's just see how well your loyalty holds up once you endure an eternity of mindless minions."

He unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter. Her eyes were stunned by the sudden brightness from two wall sconces that magically ignited, illuminating the room with more light than she had seen since she had entered the Black Sands. The giant room was empty, save for a lone, very dusty table along a side wall; apparently Mozenrath had greatly exaggerated his Mamluks' cleaning abilities.

Ignoring her presence completely, he walked by her and set the flask on the table. He wordlessly took out a small dagger and sliced his hand, the blood from his palm pooling onto the table. Was this still part of the spell?

"Come here. Quickly," he said gruffly, still holding the knife. "We both need to add our blood to the potion if we hope to get into the Underworld. It's the only way the gods can identify us and grant us entry."

Jasmine didn't move, her eyes darting wildly between the sorcerer's face and the bloody knife; maybe this was true, he might need both their bloods to complete the spell, but he hadn't mentioned it earlier. This could be an elaborate trick. Maybe the potion didn't open the Underworld but served some other sinister purpose, and he was going to use her as a sacrifice.

Mozenrath sighed and turned the knife around, offering her the hilt. He was going to let her do it herself. She looked at him with slight gratitude as she hesitantly took the blade.

"Hurry. And don't let any drip in the potion yet. We have to add our blood at the same time."

She looked down at the knife; she had never mutilated herself in any way and didn't particularly care to start now. She glanced at the sorcerer, who was eyeing her impatiently. This wasn't the time to start doubting herself; she would prove to him she was more than just a damsel in distress.

Closing her eyes and steadying her nerves, she drew the sharp blade across her palm. The pain sliced through her flesh without remorse, but she maintained an emotionless expression. If Mozenrath did this without cringing, then she would do the same. She looked up at him in silent defiance as she gave the knife back to him; he had to know that she would meet his every challenge and test.

Mozenrath simply nodded and grabbed her bleeding hand with his, their blood mixing with a slight tingling sensation. An almost exhilarating feeling coursed through her bones as she watched their blood drip together to the floor. He moved their hands above the flask, gripping her hand tightly, forcing their blood to commingle and fall into the flask. A large plume of crimson smoke mushroomed over the potion as it mixed.

Still clutching her hand, Mozenrath grabbed the flask roughly off the table and dragged her to an open area of the floor.

"Whatever you do, don't let go, until I say so. Got it?" he commanded sternly.

She nodded, panic and excitement shooting down her spine. Immediately, he began muttering some sort of foreign spell, while slowly pouring the potion onto the ground.

When the final drop hit the floor, a sudden shock wave shook the walls with a deafening boom, the impact flinging both her and Mozenrath against the back wall. Her head slammed painfully against the cold stones, but the jarring contact barely registered with her senses before a strong wind suddenly pressed the air out of her lungs. The gale relentlessly howled, splitting her eardrums as the wind forcefully tore at her skin, trying to rend the flesh from her bones. A sudden urgent bout of panic forced her to remain conscious, despite the dizzying lack of oxygen her lungs received. This…this was what dying felt like. Could she be…was she dying? Her mind raced, trying to think of what to do. She was dying.

But the scenes of her life never flashed before her eyes.

And then suddenly, the pressure on her lungs lightened and she collapsed to the floor; the hard impact of her knees on stone never felt so good to her body. She was still alive. They hadn't killed her to allow her entry; she had merely experienced the sensations of death. The gods wouldn't allow her into the Underworld until she knew first hand what it felt like to die.

"Think your hero'd be jealous if he saw us holding hands now?"

She turned toward the man now kneeling on the floor next to her; despite his windblown appearance, he still looked regal, composed, while she was sure she looked as frazzled as she felt. Suddenly comprehending his remark, she looked down at her hand and violently tried to whip it away, but he held on securely.

"Not until I say so, remember?" he said sternly.

She let her hand fall limp in his, deciding it was useless to argue now. Despite the splitting migraine she now had, she hadn't been seriously hurt, and it would be futile to quarrel with him now that she was safe.

Still clutching her hand tightly, acerbating the pain in the open flesh wound, he pulled her toward the gaping hole in the floor.

"On my count, we jump."

"Jump? In there? You have got to be kidding me. No way, I'm not going through another wind tunnel again."

"Look, Princess," he said severely, "I don't have time for you to doubt me once we get into the Underworld. If you were such an expert about it, you should have sought out some other way to bring your boyfriend back to life. As it is, this is the only way I know of, and this is the way we're going. You can either jump with me, or I can pull you in, but trust me- the impact's a lot harder for the second choice."

She drew back in half-shock at the brutal honesty words of his words. For most of their conversations so far, he had been sarcastically amused, but now he was serious and harsh. She let the truth of his words sink into her consciousness: if she wanted to find Aladdin, she would have to trust him. She had no other choice.

"Fine. On three."

"On my count. One."

"Two."

"Three."

She held her breath and jumped, feeling his hand still clutching her fingers as they fell into an endless black void.

It was the second time, she realized, that she knew how it felt to die.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

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Thanks again to all the readers and reviewers and to Cantare for all her excellent help! Let me know what you think of this chapter, especially the different points of view.


	6. Chapter 5

She opened her eyes to total darkness and the feeling of cold, solid earth underneath her skin. Confused and bewildered, she tried to remember the fall after jumping in the portal. She remembered a windless fall, a heavy force pulling her downwards and pushing her out of consciousness- she must have blacked out at that time. But she…she was still alive. Slowly, she raised her head and began moving her limbs cautiously, testing for broken bones. Strange, everything seemed to be in working order.

She looked up but could see nothing, just an endless expanse of darkness as she wondered just how far had she fallen. It had felt like they had been in the void for several minutes at least before she passed out, but there was no way a fall of that magnitude could not have caused any injuries, unless the laws of physics, the earthly decrees of matter and energy had no substance, no bearing in the land of the dead.

She pushed that thought aside as she realized she didn't even know where she was. She couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but solid stone beneath her feet and the conspicuous absence of her hand in his own. Was he even still here? She couldn't remember the point at which he had released her hand. Maybe she had lost it during the fall., but then it would be impossible to find him or Aladdin in the pitch-blackness of this place. Her hands groped around along the ground, trying to locate him, just so she wouldn't be alone wherever she was. Her fingers finally came across a piece of cloth and gratefully followed it until they came to his leg.

"Careful, Princess, or someone might get the wrong idea about us."

She drew back at the sound of his voice in both anger and relief as a soft light slowly emanated from his gloved hand and lit up the surrounding area. They were at the top of what appeared to be a large stone staircase, which extended farther than the light could reach.

"This is the Underworld?" she asked incredulously. She had expected to at least see people, or souls rather, not just dark, empty stairs. Perhaps she had worried for nothing. The Underworld she had heard of in children's stories was far more frightening than this desolate place.

"More or less. We haven't officially crossed over into the Underworld yet, but we're in the entry hall. As soon as we reach the bottom of these stairs, we'll be there."

He must have noticed the almost disappointed look on her face, as he added with a cruel smile, "Don't worry, Princess. It'll be far more dangerous once we get inside."

He rose, meticulously rearranging his clothes, and began the long descent to the Underworld. Jasmine scrambled to her feet and rushed to catch up with him; he wasn't going to wait for her, and she'd be damned if she was going to let him lead her like a child throughout their journey. She'd rather endure his company than confirm his arrogant assumptions about her helplessness.

They walked in silence; the only sounds were the impact of their feet upon cold, unforgiving stone step after step. She sighed, briefly glancing at Mozenrath from the corner of her eye; even he appeared bored with the tedious journey.

"Wouldn't it be much faster if you just teleported us into the Underworld?"

He rolled his eyes, "Astute observation, Princess. But although I can still perform magic here, the Underworld is designed so that one cannot teleport from one place to the next."

He smirked, "It would make it far too easy for magical mortals to leave or escape punishment, and the gods certainly couldn't stand being made fools of in such a way."

He laughed bitterly, "They tend to be a little possessive of their souls."

Jasmine's gait faltered as she processed this latest revelation: they were going to retrieve Aladdin's soul from the Underworld, and the gods would surely put up a fight to keep it. But he was a necromancer and had brought back souls before. Surely, he could do it again this time.

"But we can beat them. They aren't invincible, right?"

A small flicker of light flashed in his eyes as he turned toward her. "No, Princess, they aren't invincible; gods prefer to scare mortals with fantastical tales of punishments for breaking their rules than actually admit to their weaknesses. Technically I could teleport right now, but we best achieve our objectives first before we break every rule in their divine handbook. The less we alarm the powers that be, the easier it will be to defeat them."

Jasmine nodded as they continued the long descent in silence. He apparently was content with absolute quiet, but she still had too many questions plaguing her mind.

"What exactly am I going to retrieve for you?"

He didn't look at her. "I already told you. An object that I will use for protection."

"But what is it? And what does it do?"

"The less you know about it for now, the easier it will be to actually retrieve it. But let's just say it gives one power over life and death."

"Just imagine, having the absolute freedom to control your destiny, of always having enough time. Having that kind of power is worth almost any price, even traveling through the Underworld with a dark sorcerer. Wouldn't you agree?" he said with a wry smile.

"I'm not in this for power, Mozenrath," she contended. "I'm doing this because Aladdin didn't deserve to die, and I love him enough to bring him back."

"Noble excuse, but I think we both know that having a hero back would make your life a lot more bearable. Isn't that what you really want? To have the picture-perfect life with the fairytale ending. But real life is not a fairytale; true love doesn't always win out in the end. But power does."

She scoffed, briefly pausing to massage her calf muscles, aching from the never-ending descent. "There are some things more important than power, Mozenrath. Love just happens to be one of them. And I love Aladdin enough to risk my life to bring him back."

His voice never faltered as he continued, "And what if the hero doesn't want to come back? Some people actually prefer an eternity of mindless bliss to power…and love" He smirked as he added the second option. "Are you prepared to accept whatever he wants, or is love just an excuse obtain the power to get what you want?"

"I…He'll want to come back," she stuttered, her tongue groping for the words to answer this unexpected possibility. "He loves me. He'll want to come back for his friends and me. I'm doing this for all of us."

"Lie to yourself all you want, Princess. We have a long, hard journey ahead of us; there's still plenty of time for even someone as ignorant as you to learn."

She said nothing in reponse. She couldn't find any words, and anything she did say would just prolong this agonizing conversation**. **She didn't want to consider the possibility that Aladdin wouldn't want to come back. He had to love her enough to want to come back.

Even if they'd only known each other for two weeks…

"How many people have you resurrected?"

He chuckled amusedly at her pitiful attempt to change the subject gracefully. "What, doubting my abilities already? I assure you, Princess, I'm fully capable of bringing your boyfriend back to life."

"But have you done it before?"

"Why would you care as long as I can do it?"

"I…Why are you avoiding the question? Have you done it?"

"And why can't you comprehend what I told you when I said you should have found a different method to save him if you were just going to doubt me the entire way? The incessant questioning is really getting old, Princess."

"As is your constant arrogance."

He sighed but said nothing, just continued walking in silence. She couldn't tell if he was merely exasperated with her or if he was near his breaking point, the calm before the storm. Perhaps she shouldn't have tried to push too many boundaries at once. She did have to depend on him to find Aladdin. Maybe it would be better to have him as an ally than an enemy throughout their quest.

They trekked onward, not a word spoken between them until a lazy blue mist began rolling in, enveloping the stairs and lapping at the hem of her pants with claw-like tendrils of fog.

"What…?" she turned to Mozenrath.

"We're nearing the crossing. Soon, Princess, we'll see how brave you really are."

Her back straightened automatically. "I look forward to proving your opinions wrong, Mozenrath," she said with a sarcastic smile.

"And I look forward to seeing you try."

She scoffed at his last statement. He was truly unbearable. What the hell was his problem? She groaned at the thought of how long she might have to endure this misogynist and his never-ceasing condescension.

Her thoughts were pierced by the sound of a shrill scream, the harrowing yell of a woman in pain, a woman who was dying.

"My baby! My baby needs me. Please, you can't take me from my baby."

Jasmine tensed in fear, as she searched for the owner of the voice. Someone was there, suffering terribly, but all she could see was an endless expanse of thick fog. Was this some sort of trick the gods were playing on her mind, or did someone really need help?

The voice again pierced the silence, the screams now interspersed with breathy wails of inconsolable grief. "No! You can't take me from my baby. He has no one else. What will happen to him?"

"I didn't get to meet him. I just…I just wanted to hold him._"_

Jasmine involuntarily drew closer to her companion, until she backed into his arm and quickly jumped away, startled by the proximity of his presence.

He eyed her amusedly, "Scared, already? Looks like I was right about you after all."

She glared at him until another shriek pierced the darkness. She whirled around trying to find the incorporeal voice, until she finally spotted a lone, almost transparent figure in the mist. Her long white dress flowed around her in waves as the being struggled in agony, tearing her hair by the roots, while the fog seemingly propelled her forward without her consent.

"A recently departed soul. Evidently a young mother."

_"_Please just let me hold him, just for a moment. He doesn't know I love him. I want him to know that I love him_."_

She turned and looked at him, her eyes wide with horror at the cruelty of the scene. He simply shrugged and gazed at her aloofly. "The gods spare no one. So much for divine justice."

Tears welled in Jasmine's eyes at her pity for this poor woman, unable to know her own child, unable to control her own fate. This poor soul didn't deserve this, and neither did Aladdin. Was it fair to her son that Aladdin would be brought back to life, while its mother was condemned to never know her own child that she lovingly carried for nine months? Jasmine's heart lurched at the thought that perhaps this was the way her own mother had felt when she died soon after she was born. How could she forsake this soul and her child, and only save Aladdin, no matter how unjustly he had been taken from his life?

She clenched her fists by her side; it wasn't fair- it wasn't right, but yet she knew deep in her heart that she could no save every soul that died. She would just have to focus on finding Aladdin, not matter how much guilt plagued her at the thought of abandoning someone so desperate for help.

Drowning out the mother's cries for mercy with her own heartache and remorse, she looked down at her feet. The mist had risen to her waist now. Surely they were getting close.

She jumped as she felt a sharp tug on the hem of her pants. Backing away quickly, she peered through the mist to see another spirit, crawling on his belly down the stairs, his clothes torn and dusty from overuse.

"Water_,"_ the gaunt face gasped hoarsely, his lips severely cracked from the duress of opening his parched mouth. _"_Please, I must have some water."

She froze and her heart beat wildly in her chest. "I…I don't have any."

"WATER," it pleaded, with as much force as it could muster, the blood from his lips now caking with the dust on his face, plastering it to his sallow skin. It seemed that even a soul could bleed. _"Please_."

"I don't…I…I'm sorry," she turned and looked at Mozenrath, who simply gazed at the beseeching specter without emotion. Her eyes darted back to the soul, the muted colors of bloodshot veins running through his eyes. He had died of thirst. He had died, and he was still suffering. She gasped in shock and horror. Had Aladdin suffered this same fate, feeling each of his bones singularly crushed by rock until he crossed into the Underworld?

Her heart again screamed at Allah for his mercilessness. Where was he now when this soul needed him? What good was there in having gods that did nothing for their own people?

"Fate is cruel, Princess. But at least your conscience can rest, your hero will be saved."

She could not look at the sorcerer, could not tear her eyes from the pitiful man crawling towards eternal escape. She...she couldn't help him. She had to save her love, and love was never a selfish reason. But nothing could assuage the overwhelming guilt she felt at the sight of these poor souls.

"Keep moving unless you want to spend eternity with them."

His cold voice jarred her back to reality, to the severity of her surroundings. She drew closer to him, not wishing to lose him in the dense fog, as she escaped the grasp of yet another desperate soul. A leper this time, his face and hands bleeding and grossly disproportioned under heavy bandages. He reached up to her, begging her to help, crying for someone to carry him down the staircase. But she couldn't…she couldn't help them all. Her heart was on the brink of collapse from sympathy for their plight, from guilt over not being able to help them, from anguish over the sounds of their suffering. She looked at Mozenrath through eyes that threatened to betray her true emotions; he was stoic. He was always stoic. Just utterly and completely unfeeling. He took no pity on the suffering of these spirits; he seemed to view weakness as a liability. He wouldn't help her if he saw her as weak. She couldn't save Aladdin if she lost control over her emotions now. She would just have to drown out their pleas for help, cries that grew louder and more pained with each step she took. But they…they weren't her concern. Fate couldn't be changed for everyone, and Mozenrath would only help her once. She couldn't forsake Aladdin now.

Her eyes focused on the thick expanse of fog lying straight ahead, her face impassive as she tried to remember his face and keep her sanity. The mist completely enveloped them, pressing the sounds of the anguished in on her from all sides. Widows and widowers in death. Still-born children crying for their mother's breast. The soldier who died before he ever told the woman of his affections how he felt. Kings and queens wept and prayed next to beggars and thieves. They were all completely alone, all searching for some relief. All were equal in death.

Mozenrath's impassive gaze never strayed from the path in front of them, except to give her the occasional aloof smirk. He probably expected her to reach for him like a helpless child, but that could not happen, she could not allow it. She just had to make sure he didn't disappear before her very eyes. He was her only contact with the surface world, with life.

"Princess, we're here."

His eyes scanned her face, searching for her fear, but she remained rigid, unmoving. He couldn't know how much it tore her up to see all this suffering. Her composure faltered for a split second as she briefly averted her eyes from his prying stare. She quickly glanced back up at him and saw his familiar smirk, mocking her attempts at indifference. He knew. He knew her heart ached for these people, these spirits. He knew she was suffering from guilt over not being able to help them, from fear that she wouldn't be able to help Aladdin. He saw past her emotional walls. He knew.

And yet he said nothing. Jasmine broke away from his gaze and looked at last few steps that lay before them. Surely he was gloating over her, his smirk said it all, but he said nothing. He didn't openly accuse her of being weak, didn't mock her attempts at stolidity. He just watched her try to maintain control over her emotions, while struggling with the lack of control she had over her surroundings.

Control…he didn't need to say anything; he had proved he was right. And yet this new revelation only hardened her resolve to prove him wrong. Yes, she wanted control over her life, but he still hadn't changed her mind about love. Love still drove her onward. It was the force that kept her sane and calmed her nerves. Mozenrath may be right about the nature of power, but he had really missed the point of life if he thought that was all there was.

She finally lifted her head, daring to return his gaze with renewed determination. She wouldn't let him have power over her. He couldn't control her love.

Finally tearing her eyes away from his face, she looked around, trying to take in her surroundings. But all she could see was an impenetrable blue fog and dozens of souls walking, crawling toward some unseen destination.

"We're there? How can you tell?" she asked, but stopped short before he could answer.

There it was, a large stone archway looming dead ahead. Hundreds, thousands of souls stood patiently just past the massive gates, wailing, waiting for some unknown reason. She shuddered at the possibility of countless hands grappling her clothes in desperation, if they had to make their way through this crowd to continue on their journey.

"Don't worry, Princess, we're not going through in that line." He smiled at her wryly, as he noticed her discomfort with the immense number of souls blocking their path. "Consider it one of the benefits of consorting with a necromancer…there's no wait to get in."

A secret wave of relief washed over her for the first time since the inception of their journey. Perhaps traveling the Underworld with him wouldn't be as bad as she initially suspected; at least she could get in and out and away from him much faster.

They neared the massive hoard of spirits, deafened to all else but the shattering cries of pain echoing throughout the grand entry cavern. She was quickly jerked back though, as a leather glove tugged sharply on her own hand. He looked at her sternly and mouthed, "Stay close."

She nodded, and he released her hand, raising his own above his head. With a single grand sweep, an invisible force pushed the souls aside, creating a massive wall of silent tearful faces and desperate arms that lined both sides of a narrow path. The unearthly quiet was almost as unbearable as the raucous tumult that had pervaded the atmosphere just moments before. Now the silence merely amplified the intense stares of pain, envy, and desperation that bore down on her from all sides. Mozenrath moved quickly, stepping onto the now clear path and indicating for her to follow him. She caught up with him, and the incorporeal wall almost immediately collapsed a short distance behind them. Had she not trusted him, had she defied him, she would have been crushed in the onslaught of spirits.

The only sounds accompanying their steps were the dissonant booms of walls breaking under tidal waves of force behind them. But despite the earth-shattering commotion, the clarion call that signaled their freedom to move once again, the souls remained silent, uncomplaining**,** allowing her to absorb the more minute details of her surroundings. The large archway that loomed ahead depicted more figures than she had ever seen. Engraved with wars, the stone gates recalled the doom of seemingly every conflict that had ever occurred, every time a soldier brutally thrust his blade through the heart of his enemy, a man he probably had never met before that moment. Interspersed among the battle scenes lay etchings of men and women lying on their deathbeds, surrounded by family, or of mothers screaming in pain as they life they bore slowly suckled life away from them. No two figures looked the same; all had different faces, dress, ages, and yet all were displayed side by side in no coherent order. It was almost like a record of death, forever sealing in time the moment a soul passed from the world of the living to enter the land of the dead.

As they further wound their way through the crowd, the base of the arch slowly appeared. An invisible artist chiseled new carvings into the untouched base at an astonishing rate. This…this was a record of the dead, a census of the deceased. Aladdin's final moments would be shown here too, his body ground into the rocky earth, while she sat above him, pleading like a stupid child, begging heaven to save him. Her inability to rescue him, the action most treacherous to her own heart, was forever contained, entombed within the stony relief of the gateway.

Her eyes closed over the silent tears now running profusely down her face; she wanted nothing more than to find that accursed picture and expunge it from the stone, destroying the memory of his death and her betrayal until she could bring him back to life. But she couldn't take that chance, not with Mozenrath so close by.

She ineffectually wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. So much for stoicism. They hadn't officially entered the Underworld yet, and already she was a blubbering mess.

Falling a few steps behind Mozenrath, she watched his feet moving steadily before her as she regained control over her emotions. Most likely he was mocking her and her womanly heart; someone like him probably never even cried as a child. Finally working up the gumption to look at his face, to see if he held her in as much contempt as she held herself, she looked up at his face, but his eyes never once glanced back at her. He remained focused, staring straight ahead at all times as he chanted another incantation she could never understand. Maybe he hadn't noticed her; perhaps he was too absorbed in maintaining the spells needed to part the ocean of souls to behold her pitiful state.

They walked in silence, his gaze never breaking away from the large wooden dock lying just beyond the gateway. He finally stopped as they reached the edge of a large river, the souls rushing in to fill the empty spaces as they passed. They had come to a large canal, wide enough for five of Agrabah's largest merchant vessels to fit side by side. But the water, the water was black, blacker than the darkest of desert nights. It lapped at the dock, ebbing through the force of some unseen current, chipping away at the stony canal at an alarming rate. This couldn't be a river of water, but rather some sort of corrosive fluid that would strip the flesh from her bones if she dared get too close. The bleached skeletons strewn across the banks testified to that horrible fate.

"Acid," Mozenrath said, noticing her wide-eyed stare at the brackish river. "Consider it an insurance policy against mortals entering the Underworld- those dead will be unharmed, those alive…well, one drop and they can join the dead ones."

She stepped back cautiously, glancing at Mozenrath, who only acknowledged her trepidation with a cool smile. "It's best to not get too close. We wouldn't want to mar that perfect complexion- it might ruin the touching reunion that you have planned with your hero."

Her glaring stare could have shattered stone, but it had no effect on Mozenrath's aloof demeanor. "Glad to see your back to normal, Princess. Hate's such an easier emotion to handle than guilt, wouldn't you agree?"

He had seen her silent tears, those traitorous drops that belied her stoic indifference. But he hadn't belittled her then, hadn't mocked the emotional war that was raging inside her heart. But guilt…had he seen Aladdin's relief, even though she hadn't, or was he simply guessing as to her reasons for coming down here?

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mozenrath," she stammered unconvincingly.

"Now really, Princess, those weren't desperate, hysterical tears you were trying to hide back there. There has to be some deep dark reason that you'd take up with a necromancer like me to go to the Underworld. And spare me the love spiel. We both know better than that."

"Excuse me for not being an emotional rock and actually caring about the suffering of others," she shot back. "At least I have a heart, and you know what, I am doing it for love. Love, and because he didn't deserve to die. I'm going to reclaim for him what shouldn't have been taken from him, his life," she spat out angrily.

"And fight the gods tooth and nail to get what you want, am I right?"

"If it takes that. They didn't save him. I will."

"No, I will, Princess. But at least you're in agreement with me on the uselessness of the gods. "

"But I'm not looking for power, Mozenrath. I'm doing this for someone else, whereas you're only concerned about yourself, and how much power you can lord over others."

He sighed, "Still stubborn as ever, I see." He smile faded as he focused on her slowly, sternly. "But I am right, and before this trip is over, you will know it. I promise you that."

The blood in her veins suddenly ran cooler, chilled to the bone by his words. She caught herself before she faltered and stepped away from him; he couldn't harm her, his veiled threats were merely a harmless scare tactic, designed to frighten her out of her wits and prove his point that he had control over her, over her state of mind.

In the distance, a horn bellowed further down the canal, its low tones resounding through the canal walls, shaking rocks from their tenuous hold on the ceiling and plummeting them towards the water.

"And I've promised you before that you can't change my mind, nor can you scare me with your insinuated threats. There's more to life than power, but at any rate, it looks like our ride is here. Why don't we just get the journey over with so we can both prove each other wrong?"

"A challenge, Princess? Bold move for someone who has no idea where she going, but I look forward to dispelling your idealistic notions." He smiled almost cruelly, "Just make sure you know your way out before you try too hard. A sore loser can be so irksome, and I imagine a spoiled, ignorant princess who lost would be even more grating. I seriously doubt you'd have much to gain with this challenge."

"Only as much as you have to gain by continuously threatening me. But let's just get on the damn boat already."

His face broke into a wide grin; he was thoroughly enjoying seeing her peeved and on edge from his intimidations. "As you wish, your Highness."

They turned toward the large funerary ship; a solitary lantern illuminated the massive wooden galley as it swiftly approached the dock on gray-foamed waves. It would look like any surface vessel, magnificent in design, if it weren't for the multitude of skeletons, frozen to the bow of the ship in agonizing, wretched poses.

A lone hooded oarsman rhythmically poled the boat through the river along the current, only slowing his rapid pace as he neared the dock, mooring along its edge. He spoke no words, just raised a long cloaked arm, releasing the plank to allow everyone to board the ship.

Mozenrath grabbed her hand, pressing several gold coins into her clammy palms. "Charon's not going to accept passengers unless we bribe him. But he won't notice that we're still mortal as long as we appease his greed enough and don't do anything out of the ordinary. Just act like a pathetic soul until we get on the boat, understand? It's best to not ask too many questions until we're on board."

She nodded, fiercely clutching the coins between her fingers.

"And no matter what you see-"

She looked into his eyes, sternly gazing into her own.

"Don't scream."

He stepped in front of her, still cautioning her with eyes fixed firmly on her own, and placed a handful of gold coins in a cloaked palm before he stepped onto the wooden plank of the ship.

Nodding his direction, she advanced forward, approaching the hooded figure waiting silently at the edge of the boat. A long covered arm extended forward, awaiting her substantial offering. Her fingers tensed over the coins, her hand shaking as she reached up toward his outstretched limb. In her mind she still wondered what could possibly warrant a scream, and then with a silent gasp, she saw it. Bony, fleshless fingers. She dared to look up, and saw two hollow eye sockets boring down on the money still clenched in her hand; the boatman…he was a skeleton, an animated skeleton.

She swallowed nervously, as she glanced at Mozenrath, still eyeing her cautiously from the deck of the boat. She couldn't show fear now. But this time there was more at stake than just losing face in front of him; she could jeopardize the entire mission if she let her fear get the best of her now.

Slowly she raised her hand above Charon's and dropped the coins, one by one, clinking as they fell into his bony fingers. His fist slowly curled around the money, the bones clicking together as they closed over the alms. He slowly lowered his arm, granting her entry onto his ship of death.

She blinked towards the moored boat and Mozenrath's vigilant eyes. He hadn't seen her scream, hadn't seen her falter in her resolve to disprove his assumptions about her. She stepped on the boat, cautiously but firmly, daring to meet his condescending expression with unwavering determination as she stepped on the wooden deck.

He hadn't won yet.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

His eyes never left her figure as she boarded the barque. She was scared, and he knew it, but she walked with more purpose than he had seen in her so far. Was she actually still trying to prove him wrong? He smiled in spite of himself. She certainly was determined. Foolish and possibly hormonal, but determined.

As he maneuvered towards the rear of the boat, its dank boards creaked and groaned under the added weight of actual human flesh, instead of the insubstantial mass of incorporeal spirits. The planks were rotting, slowly and surely devoured by the acidic river ebbing and flowing underneath their slimy presence. He sighed and rolled his eyes. The gods' insatiable appetite for consumption ensured that even the rivers in the Underworld exchanged their life-giving waters for ones that brought agony and death, that even the nonliving vessels for the dead perished before one's very eyes. Certainly this was a little bit of overkill on the immortals' part. Humans got the idea; they were dead. They didn't need to be reminded of it every step of the way. It's not like any of these pathetic spirits were actually challenging the gods' authority. They might scream in agony and complain, kicking and screaming the entire way to their eternal resting place, but not one actually fought back effectively. Not one actually thought about how to defeat death; they just accepted it as a fact and then whined when it actually came to visit them. As far as he was concerned, they deserved their fate. Everything he had accomplished had been hard earned; every spell he performed, every Mamluk he had raised had been an attempt to prove the futility of death and the substance of his own authority.

But the princess, foolish as she was, actually sympathized with the spirits. He could see it in the way she tried to conceal the fear and horror she so deeply felt, the way she tried to force her mouth to stay in a grim line rather than grimace, the tears in her eyes she relentlessly suppressed. She followed him wordlessly as they sidestepped over wailing souls to the back of the vessel near the rickety gondolier. He watched her curiously; she was tormented by these souls, the way they clawed at her clothing almost like they were trying to steal the flesh from her bones, to trade her life for theirs, and yet she maintained a fair distance between herself and him. She refused to admit her weakness, her dependence on him in the Underworld; unlike these pathetic spirits, she wouldn't concede control to death or to anyone else. She simply stood erect and poised for defense, her fist gripping the whip near her hips with a vice-like hold. She noticed his eyes on her and raised her gaze to defy the indisputable control he exerted over her. He just smirked. She was smarter and braver than most of these spirits here, but she still couldn't see the utter folly in pitying them. Besides, her defiance was pointless; she depended on him to survive this place. She might be stronger than the wailing souls, but she was still weak, weak enough to rely on someone else to rescue her precious hero. But telling her as much would be utterly useless. This death ship was no place to listen to her petty arguments and endless questions; besides, he couldn't risk further explaining the journey now, not when there were so many prying ears.

At any rate, there was much he needed to find out first. There had been rumors, hushed whisperings between barely sane sibyls over their crystal balls that the Underworld had undergone a power struggle, rearranging the hierarchy and drastically changing the landscape. Usually he dismissed the soothsayers' incoherent ramblings- crystal balls rarely foretold anything worthwhile, but this rumor had taken hold in his mind. It certainly seemed possible that massive changes had occurred in the Underworld. His power, although not diminished, exacted a greater price as of late. And the spell to open the portal had been far too violent, far too angry at his intrusion into space and time.

The princess had been visibly shaken by that spell, understandable considering her unfamiliarity with magic. And truth be told, he had been startled by the results as well. During the previous times he had opened the portal, it had been blustery, but nothing nearly as forceful. The winds were merely an inconvenience, scattering years of research that took weeks to recompile. This time though, it almost seemed like the gods were demanding death to enter the Underworld, a death that had only been avoided by his last minute incantation that had silenced the hellish gale.

He fell back into the siding of the ship, as Charon pushed off from the dock; the boat groaned from overuse and the strain of being filled to capacity. He glanced at his cape and scowled. If the gods had been smart, they could have at least employed the souls as slaves. Maybe then this place would be somewhat presentable. But then again that would thwart the gods' hopes of instilling abject terror into the souls of all their minions; rot and decay were far scarier than order and routine maintenance.

He brushed the scum off his clothes and tried to think. There used to be a famous prophet near the exiting dock. Perhaps if he were still there, he would know more about the restructuring in the Underworld and could further guide him to this ghoul who held the keys to fate.

There had to be more he could find out now, though. Being unprepared certainly did not sit well with him, not when so much rested on this excursion to the Underworld. He looked around. None of the souls in transport would know anything; they were too ignorant and engrossed with wallowing in their own self-pity to be of any use. He shook his head in exasperation at the thought of asking the gondolier, lording over the passengers with his skeletal grin. A few questions wouldn't alarm him as being out of the ordinary, but talking to him probably wouldn't be all that stimulating, either. He held no real power except for the ability to scare the easily excitable new souls; he was a simple oarsman- a peon, a slave, not a god. But perhaps that pile of bones could reveal enough gossip to allow him to gauge the severity of the situation.

He stepped forward to approach Charon but quickly drew back and sighed; skeletons generally were very droll. Maybe he would just wait to meet the prophet, instead. They tended to be deliberately obfuscatory and vague, but at least their skulls still housed a brain. He'd rather endure his own ignorance for the time being than start a conversation that had the dangerous potential of turning into either a fright fest or a long-winded tale of woe.

He broke his attention away from the gondolier and glanced back towards the princess. She was still guarded, her hand still clutching the whip as her eyes darted back and forth between two spirits engrossed in a conversation.

"He used to write such florid, poetic letters from the battlefield. I'll never forget the very first one he wrote: 'Far across the distance and spaces between us, you have come to show you go on.' "

He groaned, covering his eyes with his gauntleted hand and massaging his temples; he had no inclination to listen to the wistful, puerile ramblings of a forlorn lover. But he didn't really have much of a choice. It was either listen to tragic sonnets or the cracking voice of the gondolier, who was now warbling incredibly off-key. Was it really necessary for the gods to take this torture thing to such extremes?

Through his gloved fingers, he spied the Princess, still completely riveted and saddened by spirit's words. No doubt her hero was just as pathetic and romantic. He probably had climbed up to her balcony and serenaded her with over-used clichés and promises to show her the world.

"Near, far, wherever you are. I believe that the heart does go on."

He groaned again, a little louder than he intended, and caught the princess' eye, growing wider with amusement as she realized just how painful this was for him.

"No taste for art?" she smirked.

"I could ask you the same question, Princess."

He half expected some petulant remark, but she just smiled and laughed under her breath. But her amusement was abruptly stilled as the entire boat fell into dead hush. The Underworld was no place for laughter, not even the silent kind.

"Well, well, well," a deep voice cracked. "Just what do we have on my ship? Someone who's actually enjoying the trip. Honeymooning to the land of the dead, are we?"

Mozenrath simply rolled his eyes, as she bristled in anger. The boatman must have noticed her reaction as he transfixed his hollow sockets on her, boring into her with a nonexistent gaze.

"Trouble in paradise?" he questioned. He stretched one bony finger to stroke her face; she shuddered but never tore her hateful gaze away from his skull. "Perhaps, you'd like to come with me see the marshes off the river Cocytus. I hear they're delightful, a real tear-jerker this time of year."

She violently batted his hand away, as she unfurled her whip. "Get your hands off me unless you want them ripped off."

Mozenrath watched her intently as she attempted to thwart the gondolier's advances, but he made no move to intervene just yet. It was the first time he had seen her threatened by someone other than him, and he wanted to see just how well she handled herself in danger.

"Oh, what a lively young thing, you are. A little too lively," Charon mused, seemingly delighted by his own pathetic pun. His smile faded, as his voice dropped to threateningly low octaves, "Why don't we remedy that problem right now?"

She screamed as a skeletal hand grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the side of the ship. He was going to throw her overboard. She wouldn't have a chance; that river of acid would melt away her flesh and eat her alive almost instantaneously. Damn it. Hadn't he endured enough from this skeleton with his infernal singing? Now five minutes after boarding his stupid boat, he was about to lose the key to his quest for immortality to this buffoon of an oarsman.

His gauntleted arm dramatically swept an arc of blue energy into the sky before firing, the single blast shattering the gondolier's arm into a thousand pieces and allowing her to escape. Her eyes widened in surprise and gratitude as she scrambled away from the front of the boat, closer to Mozenrath's side. Maybe she thought she had found another hero to save her. But his reasons were far more practical. He would not allow his ticket to power be usurped by a mere slave of the gods. Particularly not one that lacked the organ necessary for cognizant thought.

He stepped forward, blocking the most direct path between the princess and her attacker. Despite his usual aversion to chivalry, there were times when it served his purposes…like when it could save his life.

"How dare you! You're going to pay for that!" Charon clamored.

The walls of the canal trembled as the gondolier roared in anger. Mozenrath grabbed the princess roughly by the arm, moving her out of harm's way as a stalagmite broke free from the top of the cavern and hurtled towards her head. Her face once again assumed an expression of stunned disbelief and reluctant gratitude, but he just pushed her aside. He didn't have time to deal with her fawning over him now, especially since at the rate she was getting into trouble, he'd have to save her again in a few minutes.

"Ah, you dead guardians certainly enjoy preying on the weak and the stupid," he commented rather casually. The Princess involuntarily straightened her back in response and fixed her gaze upon him with a hard glare. He continued unfazed, simply smirking in her direction. "But if you had really wanted to punish her impudence, you should have sung to her. It's almost more than any mortal can bear."

The oarsman snarled, "Why I ought to crush both of you insolent brats."

"Not unless you want the rest of your bones shattered. I imagine the gods take little pity on defunct slaves," Mozenrath replied calmly.

"You dare threaten me?"

He rolled his eyes, "I only dare to point out the logistical problems in claiming power over someone when you're already missing an arm."

The skeleton's eye sockets burned a hellish red with fury, but Mozenrath simply smiled and flexed the fingers of his gauntleted hand. The gondolier shirked away timidly, moving to grasp his oar with his other hand –his only hand; apparently the fool had only then realized that he was no match for the greatest power in the Seven Deserts.

"What do you want?"

"Well, you can stop singing for one thing. It's almost enough to raise the dead, and your job security seems to depend on that not happening," he said with a wry smirk.

Charon abruptly straightened his spine, the bones clacking together in impotent rage as he bridled his anger. "Anything else?" he growled, gripping an oar that threatened to break under the pressure of his clamped fist.

"Actually, yes," Mozenrath replied nonchalantly, as he approached the undead minion at the stern of the boat, away from the prying ears of the Princess. She moved to follow him, but he fixed her with a hard glare. "Stay there," he ordered.

"Why? Whatever you're discussing probably concerns me too. I have every right to..."

He cut her off. "You have no rights except those I say you have. And unless you want me to abandon you to the whims of Casanova here, I suggest you stay put. I have no qualms about leaving behind a petulant princess who was too nosy for her own good."

Her jaw tightened in anger, glowering at him with every fiber of her being. "And I have no qualms about not helping you get the mysterious artifact that you so conveniently refuse to tell me about. I deserve to be a part of this conversation, too."

"There's no shortage of pure-hearted people in the world; however, I think you'll have a hell of a time trying to find another necromancer as powerful as I am. So unless you want to join your boyfriend down here, don't move from that spot," he said sternly. She watched him fiercely, weighing in her mind whether or not to challenge him, before she assumed a look of utter defiance and spun around, stomping away from the gondolier and himself. He just sighed and rolled his eyes at her futile rebellion, but at least now he didn't have to worry about her questioning his control over their quest in the Underworld. He couldn't afford to have her doubt his power now, not when everything he treasured depended on it.

He approached Charon, who still eyed his gloved hand nervously.

"So. What exactly has been going on down here? Whatever it is has been more than just a little rearranging."

Charon looked around nervously and lowered his voice. "There was a major coup a while ago. A couple of the minor gods had complained that Hades was getting soft, so in love with some woman that he was neglecting his duties. No one really had the ability to challenge him though, until some ghost acquired the ultimate source of power, and he became invincible."

Mozenrath nodded absently. Was this the ghoul who could travel in between realms without fear of consequences? He certainly never seemed that powerful or intelligent throughout Mozenrath's research, but there had to be more to him than met the eye if he could usurp gods that had established reigns lasting for eons. Still, everyone, every god had to have a weakness…

"Just who is this ghost, and what exactly is this ultimate source of power?"

"Look, I don't know his name, but even if I did, I wouldn't want to get in trouble with him. If he ever found out I was talking about him, he'd be using my skull as a goblet."

Mozenrath casually raised his right hand, the gauntlet glowing with a blue fire. "Funny you should mention that because you won't have a skull if you don't start telling me something useful."

He smiled coolly as Charon's eye sockets seemed to grow wider with his threat, but the skeleton still didn't reveal much else. "I can't tell you his name," he said exasperatedly. "All I know is he controls Truth now."

"Truth?" Mozenrath questioned, almost dumbfounded by the utter uselessness of his answers. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"He just controls Truth. That's it- he can twist it to suit his purposes. He can't die, and he's rearranging the universe to fit his needs. Nothing's the same anymore down here, but nobody wants to challenge him. Better to serve someone else than risk being wiped out of existence."

Mozenrath frowned; these new developments certainly complicated his quest for immortality, but he hadn't sacrificed the flesh of his hand just to give up now. He would not be ruled in this life or the next; the ghoul could not be all-powerful even if he could manipulate Truth. He still lacked the ability to control other's thoughts and actions, except through threats to obliterate them from all space and time; he wasn't invincible. Mozenrath cast a sidelong glance towards the Princess, who was studying him from the corner of her eye. He smirked at her; she might prove more vital to his quest than he had originally planned. That ghost would not accept a trade for the secrets of his power, but perhaps, he could exploit his penchant for mortal women and steal his ill-gotten power right from under his nose.

She noticed his scrutinizing gaze and raised her eyebrows at him, utterly clueless about her role on this journey. His smile only grew wider; she would help him figure out a way to defeat this waif. He wasn't about to lose to someone who had both feet in the grave.

"Is the prophet still around?"

"Yeah, as far as I know. If anyone could tell you anything about the new reign, it'd be him. He may have moved though…nobody's really safe anymore. You'll have to ask around, although if you were smart, you'd leave this place."

He began moving away from the oarsman, only looking back as he heard Charon repeat his warning not to venture further into the Underworld, no mortal was smart if he stayed.

Mozenrath simply cocked his head and stared at the handicapped gondolier without emotion, his features as stoic as a rock.

"Well it certainly looks like I'm the exception, now doesn't it?"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He approached her with a coolly arrogant gait, moving like a man who gotten what he wanted and was now coming to gloat over her continued ignorance about the situation. She turned away, hoping to completely disregard his approach; it constantly irked her that she knew so little about his reasons for accompanying her to the Underworld. He certainly wasn't the kind of man to help someone out of the kindness of his heart; her presence here was worth more to him than any inconvenience he suffered from rescuing Aladdin. But she had no idea how to find out just what it was he wanted from her.

"How's the conversation down here, Princess? Dull enough for you yet?"

She didn't acknowledge his presence, just shifted her weight as she honed her focus on one of the spirits, a young soldier, hoping to hear his tale. Maybe he was a hero, on his way to the same place where Aladdin rested. Maybe finding Aladdin wouldn't be so difficult after all.

She shivered as she felt a warm breath trail along the smooth skin behind her ears. "Don't you want to know what you missed?"

She whirled around, facing his smug grin with a glare that could have stopped anyone's heart but naturally had no effect on his over-inflated ego. "Get away from me," she seethed. "If you had really wanted me to know, you would have included me in the conversation in the first place. I don't know why you'd think I'd trust you to tell me the truth now."

"Bold words for someone who has to trust me to save her precious boyfriend."

"Perhaps, but you need me too. There's always an angle, something to be gotten for people like you. So for all your claims of power, you're just as dependent on me as I am on you."

"Hardly. I at least know my way around. And like I said, you're easily replaceable."

She scoffed, "I seriously doubt you could find anyone else to endure your arrogance."

"And I seriously doubt you could find another boyfriend willing to put up with yours."

Rage simmered beneath her surface, flushing her skin red with anger. He was the most insufferable human being she had ever met, testing her patience with every word he spoke. She turned her attention back to the deceased soldier; she'd be damned if she was going to continue to listen to Mozenrath's insults for the rest of the boat ride.

"You know, I was the greatest hero our kingdom had seen," the soldier gloated to a passenger sitting next to him. "I killed more men on the battlefield than anyone else in my legion. But did that matter to her? No, it didn't matter one bit. I left to go conquer the world for her, and she went and left me for some cowardly prince from

another kingdom, who didn't even care about war and glory. I was the most decorated warrior, and the most disgraced. I'm not sorry for what I did. I don't even care that she was the Princess. They both deserved to die. She deserved to die. It may have cost me my own life, but there was no more satisfying feeling than watching my blade pierce her treacherous heart as she _begged_ me for mercy."

Jasmine stared, dumbfounded by this revelation. He wasn't a hero; he was a murderer. He had murdered the woman he had sworn he loved. Had she…had she done the same inadvertently by not helping Aladdin? But she hadn't killed him; his death was beyond her control. He had been forsaken by the Almighty, not by her; she was going to save him.

"Shocked, Princess? You shouldn't be. What did I tell you about heroes? They're usually in it for the prize."

She didn't look up at him. "He's not a hero. He's a ruthless killer, a murderer."

"And depending on whose point of view you look from, they can be one and the same."

She turned her head to stare at him with an even gaze. "And sometimes they're not."

"Where do we go from here?" she asked, once again changing the subject in the most transparent of manners, "Since you apparently know more about this journey than I do."

But this time he only looked at her aloofly. "We have to pay someone a visit. No two souls follow the same path to get to their final resting places. But there are clues to be found if one knows where to look."

"And lucky for you, I do," he smirked.

"Well, for once I'm glad you seem to know everything about our journey. At least I won't be wandering for an eternity through the Underworld with you."

"Touché. But yes, there is nothing for you to do right now but sit back….and enjoy the view."

She sighed, realizing this was the end of their conversation. Her eyes took in her surroundings; everything was so dark. She would barely be able to see the canal walls if it weren't for the fissures in the rock that emanated wisps of fluorescent fumes. Except for the conspicuous lack of fire and brimstone, she estimated hell must look very similar. Her eyes perused the specters packing together near the front of the boat. They certainly were in a type of hell; they all suffered, but by their own hand, not that of some demon.

Had Aladdin suffered in this way too? Was he still suffering now? Surely he couldn't be. The gods wouldn't punish someone as good as him for eternity. He may have killed Jafar, but he was a good person; he had to have been rewarded for that.

Her hands fisted the black cloth of her pant leg. What if Mozenrath was right? What if he did hate her for not saving him? Her eyes involuntarily traced the angry, surefooted movements of the jilted soldier pacing in front of her. He even moved like Aladdin, lithe and athletic in each of his steps, but there was a force, a hatred she had never seen in her love.

The other passengers moved similarly, not with speed and grace, but with anger, a incomprehensible loathing and blame defining each of their steps. Surely, not all had died with regrets, with hatred or in pain; someone had to have died quietly, at peace with his place in the universe, but no countenance on this ship for the dead reflected any serenity. All were resigned to death as something thrust upon them unfairly but about which they could do nothing, and instead of wishing for renewed life, they only looked for the faults during their vital years, the memories of their suffering easing the misery they now experienced. Perhaps the journey to the Underworld was even more jarring for a soul than what she had experienced. Maybe instead of seeing the scenes of their lives flash before their eyes, they only saw the sadness and pain, the anger and hatred that occurred during their lifetimes

The canal narrowed suddenly, increasing the ever-pervading darkness that surrounded the ship. Aladdin's journey could have been the same as these souls, remembering only her weakness, her inability to save him when he needed her most. The souls' tales seemed to press in on her, crushing her chest with their collective hell.

Leaning over the side of the ship, careful not to touch the grimy rail or lose her balance on the gently rocking boat, she peered around the bow, trying to gauge how much further they had to travel. She needed to get off this boat, away from all this agony.

A low, grating note suddenly emerged from the absent-minded gondolier behind her, breaking her concentration. Mozenrath spun around, the gauntlet on his right hand flaring up in a menacing blue light. Charon must have seen the glowing threat to his other bones; the humming ceased almost immediately to the great gratitude and relief of her ears. The sorcerer glared at the oarsman a second longer, silently warning him not to repeat his foolish mistake, before he slowly turned back around, watching the passing canal walls with lingering vexation. She smiled in spite of herself, forgetting for a moment the troubles still weighing heavily on her mind.

He caught her amused smirk and fixed his glare on her, warning her, threatening her with his expression, but his irritation only caused her smile to grow wider. She rather enjoyed having someone else aggravate him, to provoke him as easily as he annoyed her.

"I don't know what you're smirking at. He would have destroyed your hearing, too."

"Probably." But her amused grin did not subside.

His jaw tightened, clearly showing his disapproval with her audacity to mock him. He raised his eyebrows, flexing the fingers of his gloved hand as he did so, and despite his foreboding stance, cautioning her not to egg him on further or perhaps trying to scare her into submission, her smile only grew wider.

Finally, he gave up and turned his attention back to the canal.

It was the first time he hadn't flustered her, hadn't shaken her to her core or exerted complete control over her mental state.

It was the first time she had beaten him at a challenge.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He had half a mind to show her what he was really capable of, what really made him the most fearsome power in the Seven Deserts. She just didn't get it. A flick of his wrist and that stupid grin would be wiped off her pretty face permanently; hell, she might not even have a face after he was through with her.

His hand absent-mindedly traced the ship's railing, stretching each individual finger and forcing the joints of his right hand to grind together, the friction from each slight click eroding more and more of his humanity. He could feel his own slow demise just as surely as he could feel the rotting planks bowing to the most infinitesimal pressure, testifying to their own inevitable end. Blind rage wouldn't serve his purposes now, not when he had so much to lose. No matter how much the Princess irritated him, the gods were far more irksome. Her challenges were harmless enough; she couldn't exert power over him. But those oafish gods piqued him in every way imaginable. Nothing vexed him more than people or gods who couldn't admit when they were outdated.

Like Destane.

He hated almost no one as much as his old master, the man who taken everything from him as a child, the man on whom he vowed revenge. But over the years, his opinion of his master had changed from that of a cruel and unfair lord to a weak and useless irritant. It mattered not to him that Destane had taken him away from everything he had known, leaving him forgotten in time to all but his aged mother and father, who in all probability, were already dead by now. It didn't even matter to him that Destane had tortured and beaten him senseless for the smallest mistake. No, what mattered was power, and he had certainly grown powerful under Destane's tutelage, far more powerful than his antiquated master. Destane could never see that, never admit that the student had surpassed the teacher. A look of utter scorn crossed his features briefly; Destane often condescended to him growing up, sending him on mindless tasks, things Mozenrath had accomplished with ease years earlier. Destane had thought he could easily manipulate his pupil in such ways: employ an apprentice to do all the mundane grunt work but keep him powerless enough to not ever threaten his reign. On the whole it was not a bad idea, but Destane clearly missed the mark when he had chosen his subject. Mozenrath was far too intelligent to sit idly by, to be tempted daily by power but never to wield any of his own.

His eyes slowly traced the ridges of rock lining the canal as he smiled, recalling how they had often poured over the multitude of scrolls and tomes housed within the Citadel in the same way, memorizing the yellowed pages with great care and unmatched discipline. He had often snuck out of his small room to steal books from the grand library to digest the axioms of magic and the universe in his own private bedchambers late at night. Destane had never caught on to his secret scholarship. His master had been far too consumed with creating an invincible army to pay attention to the vast array of far more powerful and diverse magic housed in his study.

He removed his hand from the grimy railing, flicking away any slime that lingered on his glove. Destane never even questioned Mozenrath's intentions, figuring that by withholding vital spells from his underling, he could manipulate him for his own mindless tasks. His master had never revealed any of the truly potent spells; the only reason he had ever grown powerful was because he had outsmarted Destane at his own game. When the sorcerer had sent him on pointless missions: collect the bitter nettles of the Aspaersa plant, purportedly useful for anything from treating the common cold to deflecting nasty transmutation witchcraft, find the incantation to conjure the strength of the fiery phoenix, bring the blood of a three-headed winged viper captured during a full moon- all menial tasks for Mozenrath's already well-developed mental faculties, he had used the excursions as an excuse to pursue his own studies. He had found sacred crystals, well guarded within the depths of the earth, quartzes that Destane had later dismissed as being too tedious to retrieve despite his apprentice's relatively easy, secret acquisition of the charms. He had discovered new forms of magic; once on a brief trek to the land of Zuchiri, he had unearthed a long-forgotten book of Pleiadian magic, enabling him to draw power from the heavenly cosmos to create and shape matter as he willed. Destane had known nothing of these pursuits, nothing of the fantastic mysteries his apprentice had ascertained.

It was this ignorance that had prompted Mozenrath's unmatched loathing for his former master. It was this ignorance that had gotten Destane killed. His hands clenched together violently, forming solid fists at his side; Destane simply hadn't deserved to be Lord of the Black Sands, not when he was far more suited to the job. And leaving Destane alive would have spelled too much trouble, too much pestering from a weak and outdated fossil of a sorcerer.

In the end, he had turned him into a Mamluk, using the same necromancy spells that Destane had tried in vain to hide from him. The pitiful last moments of Destane's life had been spent refusing to admit defeat as he effortlessly drew the life out of the old man's body, leaving him to spend eternity as a mere slave, a mindless Mamluk.

And now he was stuck on a boat trying to overcome yet another outdated threat to his power, his hands curling even tighter with fury at that admission. But defeating the gods would not be as easy as turning them into an undead servant**. **

The lantern light traced the watery wakes in front of the ship, the ripples unearthly beautiful, camouflaging the deadly threat they posed to any mortal being and mocking his own mortality, his greatest weakness, his greatest liability. Death. Death and those gods who foolishly tried to bring it to him were his greatest foe. Briefly yielding to the Princess had been an act of necessity; unlike his former master he knew adapt to those around him, even if it meant acquiescing to their taunts to get what he wanted.

He'd still get the last laugh. There was no doubt about that.

But avoiding death was his first priority. He couldn't spare the time to find another female to bring to the Underworld, not when the Princess had actually wanted to come. Kidnapping someone only to drag them throughout the long journey really wasn't his style, anyways; women, weak as they were, only whined and cried more if they were forcefully taken from the land of the living, and besides, dragging an unconscious mortal through the Underworld was risky, leaving one far more vulnerable to attack. Plus, if he left, he'd have to endure another boat ride with this infernal crooner.

And at least the Princess seemed to be capable of thinking, albeit rather slowly at times, even if she was foolish and stubborn beyond belief. She was still far more interesting than any of these weak, mindless souls; she was challenging the established order, even if she was stupid enough to do it for a common hero.

He sighed, glancing ahead of the ships bow. It wouldn't be long now; the canal was already beginning to widen. Soon they'd reach the exiting dock, and he could locate the prophet.

He would have to be completely alert in the Underworld; the coup had thrown off his bearings, putting him at a serious disadvantage. He knew he would find the prophet, but the he wasn't sure how long it would take. The old soothsayer had generally hung around the docks before, but perhaps if the gods found his presence to be too much of a threat he would have moved. Seers were dangerous creatures- not fully divine, but with an exceptionally honed ability to predict Fate, an ability that gave them power to instill both fear and greatness in men and gods alike.

He'd just have to search for clues. Blind seers didn't move too much, and generally when they did they followed the rivers, the sound of the water making it easier both to navigate and to be found by both inquisitive souls and the occasional mortal who ventured into this dreary world.

They'd start with the rivers close to the docks. There were bound to be hints, clues of his whereabouts nearby. With any luck, they'd find the mystic soon enough; he didn't want to waste all his precious resources looking for a prophet when he could be usurping the gods' hold over his life.

The canal suddenly brightened as the ship entered a second large entry hall and wound its way towards the exit docks. Finally they had arrived.

He moved towards the Princess, who was eying the change in surroundings with a curious fascination.

"Ready? Unless you'd prefer to take another ride through the tunnel of love with your boyfriend back there."

She sneered in annoyance as she moved towards the boarding plank and waited for the ship to moor to the dock.

"Not hardly. Besides, how could I pass up the opportunity to see if any of these virgins will actually _want_ you? They might be mindless, but you never know, maybe they still have good taste in men, and in that case, you'd be out of luck."

He just smiled at her. "I'm sure I'll be a welcome change from the all-brawn-and-no-brains heroes they always see. That would sure take a load off your mind, wouldn't it? You wouldn't even have to win your Aladdin back. If I stole his reasons for staying here, then I'm sure he'd settle for the next best thing and go back with you."

Her cheeks flushed crimson with anger, her hands clenching in fists by her side. It was her turn to threaten him, his turn to smirk broadly at her furious warning. They both knew she couldn't hit him; for all she knew, she was depending on him to rescue her valiant protector.

The boat slowly ebbed to a halt at the edge of a wide wooded dock. No bones lined the shores on this side of the shore; very few mortals who tried to ford the river ever even made it this far. With a mock bow, he waited for the Princess by the boarding plank- Charon had wasted no time lowering it and trying to get them off his ship. Perhaps that skull wasn't as completely empty as he had suspected. For good measure though, he summoned power through his gauntlet, cautioning the gondolier with his glove, now throbbing with luminescent energy, not to do anything else to provoke him. The boatsman simply shrank back, huddling closer to the stern of the boat, growling at Mozenrath through his bony teeth. He just smiled cruelly in response, turning his attention back to the haughty royal now exiting the boat in a huff.

He smoothly rounded the corner, leaving the barque in several fluid steps to join her at the edge of the dock, her eyes wide with apprehension at the sight of the tall poles lining the path just beyond the wharf. Each one supported a skeleton, forming a host of human frames all hanging by their necks, rattling in an unseen breeze like pipes of a wind chime. These were the mortals who made it to the other side of the river but never made it back out. A warning to all those humans who dare question the gods' power.

"Well, Princess," he said, a cruel smile slowly gracing his lips. She glanced up at him, her face twisted in shock and disgust at the horrendous sight lying before them.

"Welcome to Hell."

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Okay, I know, I know. You're all probably dying a little inside from having to deal with almost three lines of Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On.' (You can thank Cantare for that vicious idea. She spared me from trying to write crappy poetry, and let's face it- Celine inflicts far more damage on poor Mozey than I ever could have done. Dante's Hell is a cakewalk compared to an eternity of that song. Trust me, I know from a very painful year of having to listen to that on repeat for an hour almost every day at school.) So, in the spirit of goodwill and mercy (and shameless self-promotion), I direct you towards a new one-shot of mine, 'Ayam What Ayam.' It's a much lighter story, and although it unfortunately doesn't involve Mozenrath, it does contain another arrogant SOB, Ayam Aghoul.

Anyways, thanks for reading! I'm not really all that happy with this chapter, but this has been sitting on my desktop for 2 weeks, so I figured I better post something. Please let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts on anything.


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